


Our Bruises, Each Pristine

by CeNedraRiva



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Amnesia, Angst, Blood and Violence, Croatoan Dean Winchester, Croatoans, Drug Withdrawal, Enemies to Lovers, Evil Dean Winchester, Fallen Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Healer Castiel, Hive Mind, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Loneliness, M/M, Mind Control, Monster Dean, Possessive Behavior, Souls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 13:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12343710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeNedraRiva/pseuds/CeNedraRiva
Summary: Dean couldn’t remember the time Before. The people. The outbreak. Being bitten.There was nothing but the feral pleasure of the hunt, the symphony of years of screams echoing across his mind. So what if he couldn’t remember? It wasn’t like it mattered anymore.So why did Emmanuel—compassionate, sharp-tongued, incandescent Emmanuel—make him want to remember?





	1. In which Dean is a croatoan

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Dean/Cas Big Bang 2017, with [amazing art made by CurlzForMetal.](https://curlzformetal.tumblr.com/post/166353658128/the-dcbb-art-for-the-amazing-cenedrariva-i-was) I would also like to say thank you to my beta [silver9mm](https://silver9mm.tumblr.com) for their help.

The taste of blood was as familiar as the texture of raw flesh between his teeth, or the scent of viscera in the air. Slowly, he lifted his head to flash a bloody grin in the direction of the survivors. One began to retch, while the other couldn’t stop shivering, eyes blank. 

Now, that just wouldn’t do.

Twisting to his feet, he abandoned the corpse of their companion, striding until he was directly before the catatonic man. Snapping his fingers had no effect. Neither did breaking the man’s fingers. It seemed he was too far gone for physical stimuli. A challenge, then. 

Directing his slaves with a thought, he used their hands to draw the man to standing, holding him steady as another of them found him a blade. 

If there was one thing he was skilled at, it was this. He could use the hands of his servants, of course, but there was nothing quite the same as using his own hands to destroy.

Low on the floor, the other survivor had finished emptying her stomach and turned to watch him work. Her cheeks were damp from weeping, but her eyes were hard. Angry.

“No words for me now? You were quite chatty earlier,” he commented, eyes following his blade along skin. The edge was sharp enough that it took several seconds for the blood to begin leaking, little beads of red glistening like dew on cobwebs. 

“Is there any f-f-fucking p-point?” she growled out. He grinned, encouraging his servants to laugh aloud. Their baying cries echoed around the small room. 

“Not really, honey. Either way you’re going to scream for me, just like whatshisname.” 

“You’re a monster…” she whispered. It only incited a new round of laughter.

It was some time later, as he managed to elicit the first flicker of conscious awareness from his catatonic victim, that she acted. The survivor had somehow managed to conceal a machete from his slaves, one which she immediately put to use removing the hands of her captors. She bolted from the room, abandoning her friends to their fate.

He didn’t move, didn’t attempt to follow. Right now, there was nothing but him and his victim and the rack, and the slowly growing flame of agony in his eyes. 

(in the back of his mind, he watched her running through the eyes of his slaves, positioned them to track and follow, felt them straining against his control to give chase, to hunt her, and he moved them like chess pieces)

He sank his fingers into the wound carved along his victim’s bicep, wiggling them around until the blood began to run freely. His victim gave a weak moan, finally focused on the world around him to some degree—or at least enough to respond. The two slaves with missing hands were dying on the floor. Behind him, the first victim was sprawled, his throat ripped out by teeth alone.

He could still taste it on his lips.

* * *

 

In the early days, the streets had echoed with screams and the rattling of gunfire. Things were much quieter now. 

It made him savour hunting all the more.

While there was a certain pleasure in leading his drones to destroy a rival’s enclave, or in cornering the rogue demon who didn’t know any better, nothing compared to the terror he could elicit in true, pure humans. Unfortunately, they were also one of the rarest commodities of the modern world. 

Five years from the outbreak, and there wasn’t a single city left safe across the country, probably the same across the entire world. Humans were practically extinct, long ago infected or slaughtered where they stood. It had been a wild, manic time. How he missed it.

There were monsters, of course. Other predators. Werewolves and vampires, rugaru and wendigo, and dozens of others he knew no name for. Their corrupted souls were interesting to taste, and they made for more difficult prey, but they didn’t have the same fear. The same instinct to run and hide. It wasn’t nearly as fun after the first couple kills. 

Not to say uninfected humans were completely gone. There were still groups left. Survivors clinging to the edges of a dead civilisation. 

It kept things interesting, at least.

* * *

 

He was midway through removing the kidney of his catatonic victim when he caught the “escaped” woman. She screamed, swinging the machete, and managed to decapitate one of his slaves. 

He blinked as he felt the connection to that mind go blank, before he smiled. She was very aggressive. Perhaps he’d keep her. 

He returned to his artwork, but kept half a thought directed to her. He watched as his slaves tackled her to the floor, as another tore away her shirt to bite viciously at her shoulder. Her screams tickled against his thoughts, a harmony collected through multiple sets of ears.

Despite the fast-acting nature of the contagion, it still took several minutes to compromise her mind. She managed to kill two more of his slaves in the meantime, while he placed aside his blade, reaching into the body cavity to shred nerve fibres between his fingers. The body spasmed, groaning, unaware, but he no longer cared about that. She was much more interesting.

* * *

 

He couldn’t remember too much of before. Everything was hazy, desaturated. Unimportant. 

He knew he had been a master of torture. Those years were about the only thing that stood bright, skills and memories reawakened post-infection, and heavily reinforced during those early months. He had slaughtered. Sliced. Ripped. Burned. Flayed. An ashen voice whispered in his memories, advising him, guiding his hand to the most effective method of drawing pain and agony. 

He didn’t remember his name. Family was blank, though he assumed he must have had one. His job, his life, all missing. Gone. 

He didn’t care. He didn’t feel anything for the missing memories. No longing, no wistfulness or nostalgia. What use did he have for past memories, anyway?

The sight of black feathers gave him pause, sometimes. A particular shade of blue in the sky would cause his head to start ringing. Fire made him uneasy, but that may have just been natural caution.

It didn’t matter. Didn’t help him hunt. 

He wasn’t human anymore. Hadn’t been in years. Perhaps even before that.

* * *

 

The first thing he gained from her mind was rage. She was so full of rage. Frustration, grief, misery, hate, pain—it all twisted into a maelstrom of fury. She wanted so badly for things to be better, for her friends to have lived, for things to be as they once had before the outbreak. 

As the virus worked through her system, he felt as those other things began to fall away. The sorrow, the grief, it all melted away leaving nothing but fury and joy. All the rage, all the aggression, intertwined with artificially imprinted sadistic intent. 

He was impressed. If it were only a few years earlier, she would likely have collected her own pack of slaves. She would have made a fierce rival, although serving as an attack dog was just as good a fate.

She stopped fighting after a little longer, throwing herself into the embrace of amnesia and blood-filled thoughts.

Maybe an hour later, as he wandered the street, she was there. The touch of his thoughts against hers was more like a shock collar than the puppetry over his weaker-willed slaves. He knew from the sharpness in her eyes that it would only take one slip of the mind for her to try to wrestle control away from him, to force him to submit to her desire.

It would be a struggle in vain, of course. No being controlled his actions, not even bloody Pestilence himself. It would take a lot more than an uppity ex-survivor to usurp him.

* * *

 

He had met Pestilence twice.

The first time was only a few weeks after he was infected, running rampant throughout the city. He’d already had a small hive of drones, maybe two dozen following his command. 

The strange being had caught his attention, wandering slowly through the screaming crowd. The dull, green light at the core of Pestilence’s being had contrasted sharply with the white, coruscating light of souls. He’d recognised it, somehow, despite never seeing the Horseman before.

Pestilence had paused, turning to face him. 

“I did wonder whether you were immune or not. I tried to tune the virus so only Lucifer’s bloodline would remain uncorrupted. I see now I was successful.”

He hadn’t responded, but apparently Pestilence hadn’t expected him to. Some instinct held him back from attacking, an unease he’d not felt before. 

Pestilence approached and circled his body, inspecting him. 

“Very interesting. And you control all of them as easily as your own limbs?”

“Yes?”

“I wonder, is this unique to your specific genealogy, or will all vessel bloodlines display the same reaction? This will make a truly fascinating study in a few years, after the epidemic has fully saturated the population.” The Horseman nodded, before wandering away.

The encounter had quickly slipped from his mind before the more immediate craving for blood and screams. Time was fluid, only gaining meaning as the number of pure humans declined and hunting down the survivors became a skill instead of a frenzy. He relished the challenge.

Sometimes, he could hear the echoes of commands against his thoughts. Vague directions, instructions to convert more or hold steady, calls to attack. He followed them whenever they proved convenient, otherwise disregarding the whispers. After all, a master hunter knew when to listen impulses and when to ignore them.

The second time he had encountered Pestilence was a year ago now, long after humans became rare. Their second meeting alerted him to the fact that that little voice deep within his mind wasn’t natural, or any weird aspect of his psyche. Pestilence reigned supreme over all croatoan, a murmur in the backs of their heads, shaping their actions and thoughts in the same manner as he did with his drones. 

Knowing the whispers were commands from Pestilence, he elected to ignore them whenever possible. He wasn’t beholden to anyone, not even to the one who had crafted the virus lacing his blood.

* * *

 

There were more humans. 

He tracked their progress as they snuck through the ruins of the town, deeper and deeper into his territory. The fractal vision washed over him, comprised of dozens of eyes, his drones, hidden and watching from out of sight. A web, quivering with energy as new prey was entangled. 

The humans’ path brought them close to the building he was currently lounging within, a mildew-soaked apartment with a rather excellent view over the town and a little of the surrounding area. From this distance, if he was motionless, they would not notice him, camouflaged within the dereliction.

He suffered no such handicap, easily picking them out in the dim evening light, despite the distance.

Invisible to the eye of the uninfected, each of the survivors seemed to almost glow from within. Soul light, untainted by the stains of demon smoke or croatoan infection. The pure light was a beacon, irresistibly drawing the attention of every being that fed on souls.

His mouth watered.

* * *

 

It wasn’t important for them to eat. If it had been, then they would all have died years ago of starvation, as the virus ran its course and society collapsed. Once the infection had fully progressed, their bodies were powered by Pestilence’s virus, some combination of sulphur in their veins and black magic in their lungs.

That didn’t mean they never hungered.

He couldn’t remember his first few meals, lost in the blood-haze of the early days. When the mania faded, he could see them everywhere. The soul-lights, each wrapped within a human shell of blood and tissue. 

It triggered a craving, one he barely understood and he never sought to suppress. He had to consume them. Destroy them. Needed them to shatter as dearly as he had been broken, to bathe in their light and swallow them all down until nothing remained.

Tainted souls were not enough. They weren’t  _ right _ . Vampire, rugaru, werewolf, wendigo, wrong, wrong, wrong—

Eventually, as the numbers of uninfected, untainted humans dropped, he began to hunt other croatoan. The ones he let live joined his hive, their minds falling submissive before his obvious superiority. With the size of his hive quickly growing, it hadn’t taken long before he became aware that the slow feed of a drone’s soul sated his hunger just as completely as any kill, even if it lacked the delightful hunting aspect. 

Of course, he was not the only one to notice. Any croatoan with a mind strong enough to force obedience began to gather slaves, coordinating them as one being. Each infected, obedient soul acting to feed and nourish their master.

There were battles. Hive masters seeking to steal the best territories for hunting the surviving humans, or to collect more drones. Murder the leader, and you could assimilate the pack. 

Currently, his hive was made up of over 600 bodies, many of which were completely mindless by now. On the fringes of his awareness, they died sometimes. Souls burnt out completely, bodies collapsing, flesh long dead already.

He was in no danger of starving.

That didn’t mean he didn’t hunt.

* * *

 

With a thought, he summoned his most recent drone, sending her closer to the humans. If he was lucky, they would recognise her and welcome her back, leading his eyes directly to their encampment. The chances were good, considering he had only captured her a few days beforehand. 

Subterfuge was a sound strategy, one that worked nearly as often as it failed. Survival-oriented paranoia certainly had advantages when it came to preserving human life.

If it failed, he could always track the humans as they left. 

His drone was close enough now to see their faces. She remained undetected, of course. He was a master of stealth, even when manipulating limbs that didn’t belong to his body. Roughly, he began to sort through her memories (a difficult task: the majority of them had been reduced to tatters during the change, or he would have followed her to the location of her old camp by now), ignoring her hiss of pain and token struggle against his dominance. 

One of the faces was familiar. Perfect.

Still watching from the window nearby, he moved her closer, modulating her features to display a mixture of fear, anger, desperation and hope. She fell into cooperation, as eager as he was to taste fresh blood. Satisfied, he allowed her to stumble over some rubble, drawing the attention of all three humans. 

“Wait! Don’t shoot!” 

Hearing a human voice was enough to give the survivors pause, though none of them lowered their weapons.

“Lily?”

“I am so fucking glad to see you guys! I’ve been hiding for days, ever since the last patrol. Do you have any food with you?”

“We thought you were dead.”

He moved her to give a sigh, body angled to display sarcasm. “Came pretty fucking close, let me tell you that.”

“Lucas and Sarah?”

“Dead. Both of them. I tried to drag Lucas out but he was—” He twisted her features into a sharp grimace, letting her eyes drop in a display of pain. “It’s—it’s just me, now.”

“Oh, Lily.” One of the survivors sighed, a woman with dark hair buzzed short. Her eyes shining, she made to step forwards, only to be blocked as her companion threw an arm into her path.

“Alana, don’t! You know the protocol.”

“Daniel—”

“We can’t trust her yet.” He turned to face his drone. “Sorry, Lily.”

“Yeah, I know,” he responded, through her vocal chords. “I’m not kidding about the food, though. Seriously, do you have anything? Last thing I ate was a half-tin of out-of-date ravioli, yesterday morning.”

“You know we can’t, Lily. Not until Emmanuel says you’re clear.”

Up within his hiding place, he perked up. Emmanuel. Was that their group leader? Perhaps he would make a good addition to the hive.

It was maybe an hour later before anything else interesting happened. Seemingly out of nowhere, another group of survivors approached. 

He frowned. There was definitely something wrong about the situation, not in the least because he had eyes positioned across the entire city and beyond, as well as roving patrols of blood-minded drones. There was no possibility that they could have made their way into the centre of his territory without avoiding detection. Four—no, five of the survivors—being led forwards by—

What the Hell?

What the  _ Hell. _

He scrambled for the window. Surely, this was simply a distortion, a mistake in the vision of his new drone, this couldn’t possibly be real—

What the fuck?

It wasn’t an illusion. Their leader—a tall, pale-skinned man with dark hair and desolate eyes—his soul-light truly was that magnesium-bright, iridescent and swirling like gossamer caught in eddies of sun-warmed air. Impossible arches of fractured light fluttered behind his shoulders, almost shaped like wings, if ragged tatters of silk drifting within a river could be used as wings—

The man was examining his drone, declaring Lily compromised, full croatoan—

Her body was riddled with bullet wounds as the survivors attacked, a dull ache resonating back across his link to her, he didn’t care, it didn’t matter—

“You’re—what are you?” The words unintentionally slipped from his head to her mouth, barely audible over the retorts of gunfire. The man lifted his own weapon, and the others stopped firing. The light, the light, he could feel her eyes beginning to burn out, the optic nerve disintegrating, and at the core of that light—so fucking blinding—there was nothing but blue, blue, blue, blue—

The gun was pressed against her forehead—

“My name is Emmanuel.”

He gasped as the shot rang out, and abruptly his connection to Lily broke apart. Watching from afar, he saw her body collapse, dead and useless. He didn’t give a damn. 

From so far away, the opalescent soul—Emmanuel, apparently—was closer to star-bright than pure burning light. The details were obscured, but it didn’t reduce the feeling of awe at the vision he presented. He was unable to do anything other than watch, dazed, as Emmanuel led the survivors away, disappearing from his sight nearly as suddenly as he had appeared. 

He was rather surprised to realise he was panting, shivering lightly in the breeze he hadn’t noticed in years.

He had never—

This wasn’t a demon, or any sort of monster he had ever had the pleasure of hunting, and that included the half-intuitions he had about his life before infection. This was something new. Something powerful. Rare. 

He wanted it. 

The incandescent soul, blazing, billowing light, whatever the fuck this Emmanuel really was. It would be his. To hunt. To kill. To convert. To shatter. 

He wanted it, and so it was his. 


	2. A new obsession

Emmanuel was kneeling beside a dying human. Blood poured out of the wound, past Emmanuel’s hands to spread like a great sanguine lake across the floor. The man growled, pressing harder and muttering prayers under his breath. 

For a while, he simply observed. Tendrils of light were beginning to flow through Emmanuel’s hands, down into the body of the dying man. 

It was fascinating to watch. Obviously the man was going to die, the wound was too grave. Without the weird soul magic Emmanuel was working, he’d be long since dead. But still, Emmanuel was trying, twisting his own iridescent soul to suture the embers of the dying soul back into the broken body. 

“It won’t work,” he drawled, leaning back against the door-frame. Smoothly, Emmanuel drew a handgun, firing a shot in his direction without a glance. 

The bullet would have pierced his heart. Luckily, he had the forethought to dodge.

Unluckily—at least as far as the dying guy was concerned—the distraction was enough for the soul to escape Emmanuel’s grasp. 

“God-fucking-damn it!” Emmanuel cried out, before firing another five shots. 

One clipped his shoulder, and he swore, ducking out back out of the doorway. The bright soul had excellent aim. He chuckled, poking at the wound, as he called over a drone to investigate. No need to damage his true body further. 

It was less than a minute before he sent in the drone, but the room was already empty. From the window, he caught a brief glimpse of shimmering light disappearing around a corner. A second later, the sentry he had posted down that street died.

He still had no clue what Emmanuel could possibly be. Not a single creature he’d ever heard of had the ability to heal dying things, even unsuccessfully. Emmanuel’s stealth was beyond belief. Apart from Lily, not a single one of his drones had managed to get more than a glimpse of the strange soul before blinking out. Many of them hadn’t even had that much notice. 

The thing was, despite the brightness of the glow of his soul-light, it still seemed inherently human. Purer than human, nearly. 

One day he would taste that soul and know ecstasy.

* * *

 

Hunting Emmanuel was exhilarating. It took forethought, akin to the strategy that went into chess, simply to corner the man. Dozens of his drones had fallen to the mission, with almost none reclaimed from among Emmanuel’s survivors. The man preferred to kill his friends rather than submit them to life as a croatoan.

He stared at the man, and heard chanting in an unknown language echo across his mind.

“I know you,” Emmanuel growled. “You’re the bastard that distracted me from healing Ravi.”

Behind him, three humans were cowering, aiming weapons outwards at the croatoans that surrounded them.

“Guilty.” He smirked, giving a shrug. “Though I was right. It didn’t work.”

“Because you interfered!”

“Emmanuel! Please!” one of the humans cried, reaching forward to tug on Emmanuel’s free arm. “We need to go!”

“In a second.” Emmanuel strode forwards, drawing his weapon as he broke away from her grasp. She glanced to the other humans, before running, narrowly dodging past his croatoans. The others followed. In the distance, he could pick up the noise of a truck’s engine, presumably their escape. 

He directed several drones to chase the survivors while Emmanuel was distracted. 

“Why? Why did you watch me, instead of attacking? Why did you let him die?”

“Your humans are about to die. Again.” His statement was punctuated with a shriek and sharp gunfire. Two slaves fell dead.

Emmanuel flinched, his mouth twisting up into a snarl. The muzzle of his gun didn’t waver, despite Emmanuel’s obvious distress. “Answer me. Why didn’t you attack?”

“You’re cute when you’re angry.”

Emmanuel fired. 

This time, he had a drone ready and waiting to leap in the way and intercept the shot. By the time the dead drone hit the ground, Emmanuel was already sprinting away to join his companions. 

A few minutes later, their escape truck disappeared from his extended vision. He was unsurprised. Obviously, Emmanuel was using some form of magic to conceal them or evade his notice. Most of his drones barely had active thought, it wouldn’t prove difficult to deceive them.

The engine noise echoed across the city, but despite his best efforts none of his drones caught another glimpse of the truck.

* * *

 

Once or twice he caught flickers of Emmanuel at the edge of his awareness. Noticed the man sprinting across open countryside, or creeping between houses. By the time his eyes made it close, the man was already long gone.

It was enough, though. 

See, there were some difficulties humans faced that croatoans just didn’t. Mainly, a need for regular food, water, sleep and safety. Which meant most humans began to form groups, to help each other survive. The problem with that was that as the groups grew larger, they needed more and more of these basic things, or else they would descend into anarchy.

Put it all together, and it meant most humans settled into stationary encampments, places they could fortify to their heart’s desire and grow what few crops they knew how. Whatever else they needed, they had to scavenge from the surrounding area.

Emmanuel’s foraging trips were erratic. He didn’t follow any particular schedule, and he was an expert at covering his tracks to hide the way back. Each scavenger party was sent in a random direction, so that no single area was raided two times within a month. 

It was an excellent strategy. 

However, it assumed that all croatoans were independent, unintelligent minds that would never collate their observations. 

Unfortunately for the survivors, this was not the case. 

After seven encounters with Emmanuel across his network, he was able to triangulate the approximate location of the man’s camp. 

He attacked at midnight.

* * *

 

Screams of terror were echoing across the settlement, along with the delighted shrieks of his followers. He paced slowly, searching for his favourite, the bright-soul Emmanuel. 

Catching sight of that brilliant light, he began to run. The man was leading a small band of humans towards the trees, accurately shooting every approaching drone. 

He knew the exact moment Emmanuel spotted him.

“You!” Emmanuel exclaimed.

“Me!” 

Several dozen drones stepped forwards, surrounding the survivors. There were children among them, quickly herded towards the centre of the group. Emmanuel’s eyes flickered around, gauging the situation.

“You’re their leader, right? The other croats all obey you.”

“Why? You looking for a master, baby?” He let his eyes rove over Emmanuel’s body, cat-calling through his drones as he did so. “I’m sure we could work something out.”

“Let my friends go,” Emmanuel commanded.

He hissed, shaking his head in mock sympathy. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. They’re my new toys. You understand what it’s like. Gotta keep the masses happy.”

“Whatever you want, I’ll obtain it.”

He grinned widely enough to bare teeth, and stepped closer until the barrel of Emmanuel’s gun was pressed directly against his chest. “Will you? What if what I want is you?”

One of the humans gasped, but Emmanuel ignored them. 

This close, he could pick out the blue of Emmanuel’s eyes.

“What guarantee do I have you’ll let them go?”

“You don’t, but I’ll tell you what. I’ll let them run, give them a head start even, if I can have you.”

Emmanuel’s eyes didn’t waver.

“Have me for what?”

“To hunt. Run from me, run whichever way you want, you are the one I’ll follow. I’ll ignore all of them, if I get to chase you down.”

“I’m not running until they’re all out of sight.”

“Very well.”

He allowed the humans to flee. It didn’t matter much to him. Most of them would not truly escape, not with so many of his drones here.

After the last of them disappeared, Emmanuel took a step back. His eyes darted around, searching for a solution.

“Shit,” he murmured, before sprinting away. He began to follow Emmanuel at a much more leisurely pace as the man disappeared from sight. He was unbothered. Emmanuel wouldn’t get far.  It wasn’t like there was anywhere to hide from his eyes here. 

He caught up soon enough, directing his remaining drones into the woods after the other humans. He had no need for them here. Fractal visions of deaths, both croatoan and human, were splintered across his sight. None of it was enough to distract from the mesmerising image up above.

Perched on a narrow branch was Emmanuel, in all his brilliant glory. 

“Found you.”

Emmanuel was already watching him, lazily resting a shotgun over one arm. He moved closer, attempting to find a way up the tree and was unsurprised when the ground beside him erupted with pellets.

“I’d keep both feet on the ground if I were you.”

Backing away, he raised both arms in a show of surrender, smirking up at the man.

“Don’t be like that, baby! Just climb back down, and we’ll go all night!”

“Not interested.”

“Come on. We’re two crazy souls who found each other in this screwed up world. You gotta admit, that’s kismet!”

Emmanuel was silent, squinting down past the shotgun barrel. He grinned, trailing his eyes over Emmanuel’s vessel in a lascivious manner.

Something in Emmanuel’s expression shifted.

“…Dean?”

He blinked.

“Oh my—it’s really—it is you, isn’t it? Dean Winchester?”

“Dean who?”

“I knew you, from before. Your name was Dean.”

“You’re a weird one, Emmanuel.”

“I remember. We—we were friends, once. We fought together, killing monsters. Fighting for—something, there was something we needed to stop. All this, probably. Dean, I—it’s my fault you were infected.”

Huh. Emmanuel actually looked real guilty about that. Maybe he could be this Dean guy, see if he could guilt Emmanuel further. 

Maybe he actually had been Dean, once. 

It didn’t really matter though, except that Emmanuel recognised him. Actually, this had all sorts of potential as far as psychological torture, even without his memories. Seeing a friend transformed as radically as he had been, it had to hurt.

“This is my fault.” Emmanuel had lowered his weapon. He began to climb down from the tree. 

Down below, Dean frowned. 

“What are you doing?”

“Well, if it’s my fault, if I am the one that doomed you, it is only right that you get the chance to extract your revenge. Kill me, or whatever else you were planning on doing. I destroyed your life. It is only right my own is forfeit.” 

This…this wasn’t right. Emmanuel was making this too damn easy. Where was the challenge? The risk? This being could kill him, had killed many of his followers. He could evade Dean’s sights, avoid notice by any of the hundreds of drones he controlled, even heal humans (as long as they weren’t infected), and he was just going to give up?

Emmanuel had reached the ground now, where he crouched to lay down his weapon. Dean glared at the man as he moved forwards, watching as he knelt before him. 

“Dean. My life is yours. I only hope it can help make up for what you have lost.”

Dean couldn’t even remember whatever life Emmanuel seemed sure he’d destroyed. 

“No.”

Emmanuel flinched, before looking up. His eyes squinted in confusion.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean fucking no! What the Hell? You get some weird half-flashback, and that’s it? Game over?”

Emmanuel’s head tilted to one side in an almost endearing display.

“Dean?”

“No, I don’t accept that! Months! Months, I’ve been chasing you! Hunting you! And you just give up? This was meant to be the last of the big game hunts, before humans finally go extinct and you ruined it!”

Emmanuel blinked, mouth hanging open, but apparently he had no response. That was okay. Dean wasn’t finished.

“No, I am not fucking accepting this. Get up. Fight back. Keep running. Do something! Make this fucking interesting again!” 

He dragged Emmanuel to his feet, throwing him back against the tree and grasping him around the neck. 

“I can see you, the real you beneath all this human crap—” he slammed Emmanuel against the tree again, sneering as he saw the man gasp for breath “—and I know you’re better than them, I know you have  _ abilities _ . You could destroy me in a heartbeat, and now you won’t even defend yourself. For what? The memory of some fucking human?”

Emmanuel’s skin was beginning to flush a deep red, his body beginning to twitch at the lack of oxygen, but still his eyes were calm. Accepting. He wanted Dean to kill him.

“Fight me. Fight back!”

Emmanuel did nothing, and his eyes glazed over. Beneath his skin, the tendrils of his magnesium-soul were dimming, shrivelling like dead plants. He wasn’t—he wasn’t going to fight back.

“Fuck you.”

Emmanuel began to fall still. 

“Fuck you! Goddamnit!”

Stepping back, he flung Emmanuel’s vessel to the ground. The man immediately began to wheeze and cough, struggling for air. Dean snarled, pacing back and forth, fingers digging through his hair. Distantly, he was aware that his drones were frozen, no longer pursuing the remaining humans as his focus slipped. 

That was okay. He’d hunt them all later. After he’d decided how to deal with this colossal waste of a potential hunt.

Emmanuel was watching him now, still crouched on the ground. 

“Why the fuck did you have to go and accept fucking dying?”

Emmanuel attempted to speak, but his voice came out as a croak. After another brief coughing fit, he began again.

“I told you, Dean. My life is yours.” 

“How am I supposed to kill you when you  _ want  _ me to kill you? What the hell do I get out of that?”

Emmanuel’s eyebrow twitched. It looked like he was resisting the urge to glare.

“Revenge?”

“For something I can’t even remember and don’t give a flying fuck about? Try again.”

“I don’t know, Dean, to sate your innate sense of sadism? Because you’re croatoan? To eat my soul? Pick a reason!” Emmanuel groused, rising to his feet.

“Hah! I thought you liked this Dean guy!”

“I do! Fuck, I think I loved you when you were Dean, but I hate you as you are now! I hate this! I hate what you are! You killed Lily, and Ravi, and so many others. I watched you murder children! Children! The corruption is so deeply intertwined with your soul-light it makes me feel physically sick to look at! And it isn’t even your fault! I’m the one who let you get infected, I’m the one who let you die, who led to you killing everyone. It’s my fault you found our camp, and I can’t remember shit about it, but I bet it’s my fucking fault that all this fucking croatoan virus crap happened in the first place!” 

By the time Emmanuel stopped speaking, he was standing only a few inches in front of Dean, eyes shining with guilty rage. It trembled along his body, and made his breaths heavy and wild.

It was enthralling. 

“So you know,” Dean began, “this whole righteous fury thing you’ve got going on makes you at least 60% sexier.”

Emmanuel snorted, swearing under his breath. Eventually, Emmanuel’s breathing began to slow again, and he turned back to meet Dean’s eyes.

“Okay,” Emmanuel said.

“Okay?”

“Yes, okay. If you will not accept the offer of my life, then all I can do is devote it to fixing the damage I have caused.”

Dean frowned.

“Fixing the damage. You mean me. Fixing me.”

“Yes.” Emmanuel sighed. “I intend to find a way to cure you of the croatoan virus.”

Dean smirked. 

“Now, this is what I’m talking about. A long, painful struggle towards an impossible goal. I like it.”

“Not impossible, just highly unlikely,” Emmanuel grumbled.

“Highly unlikely, yeah right. You do know the virus was crafted by Pestilence himself, one of the big Four? There is no cure.”

“I will find one—”

“And even if there was, he’d only modify the virus to make it stronger.”

“I will find one.”

Emmanuel seemed to be sincere. He seemed to genuinely believe that he could find a cure for the virus. 

Dean began to laugh. Quickly, the feeling overwhelmed him, and he was crying out in deep belly laughter, the sound echoing discordantly across the abandoned settlement. 

It was several minutes later before he could control himself. Emmanuel appeared impatient, staring at Dean with a tight expression. “Shall we be on our way, then?”

“What? You’re coming with me? Why?” Dean snorted.

“It will offer me the best chance to study how the virus interacts with your soul-light, and help me to formulate a plan to heal you.”

“You don’t care to look for your humans?”

Emmanuel’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “You just destroyed our camp, which you presumably found by following one of us here. Even if I knew where they were headed, I would not risk their safety by leading you to them again. They can survive well enough on their own, anyway.”

“Whatever.” Dean shrugged. “Shall we be on our way, then?”

“Yes. Lead on.”

Dean snorted, but he did turn to wander in the direction of his nest. A few seconds later, Emmanuel’s footsteps followed.

He now had a devoted follower, one who was searching for an impossible cure. This was going to be fun. 


	3. Teething problems

If there was one thing Emmanuel was certain of, it was that he was now absolutely fucking screwed. During the four years he could remember, he had gotten into all sorts of trouble, with both humans and monsters alike, but there had never been anything like a fuck-up of this magnitude. 

What the hell had he been smoking? One poorly-timed flashback, a sudden bout of intense suicidal ideation, and suddenly he was offering up his life to the goddamn leader of the croatoans? Somewhere out there, the remainders of his camp—his friends—were running for their lives, and he was just blithely wandering into the centre of the croatoan nest!

The only reason that he wasn’t dead, as far as he could gather, was because the leader—Dean, apparently—was amused at the idea of him trying to find a cure for the virus. That or he was disappointed at the idea of an easy hunt.

Dean. 

During the past few months, he’d encountered the croatoan no less than five times, although admittedly mostly from a distance. He had been beautiful, before the virus took him. Fine cheekbones, vibrant eyes, full lips and a muscular frame made up a very striking figure—he could have gone in for fashion modelling, before the world collapsed. Or perhaps a role in a marketing team, somewhere he could work with people. Even with what little he knew of him, it was easy to see Dean had possessed a magnetic personality.

Something had changed, as he was sitting in the tree. Maybe it was the way Dean was flirting, although everything he said was outright obnoxious. Perhaps it was the way the light glinted off the barrel of the shotgun he was aiming at Dean’s heart. 

Whatever it had been, Emmanuel was suddenly certain they had met. He remembered a poorly lit room, filled with heavy music and an angry, scantily clad woman, and Dean’s laughter. It echoed through his head. 

As he stared, other memories had presented themselves. Dean in a beautiful black car. Dean defending a taller man with long, dark hair. Dean fishing from a pier by a lake. Dean encouraging him to try pie. Dean yelling at him to run, to get several humans to safety. Finding Dean later, his dark chuckle as he displayed a bloody bite on his arm. The knowing look in Dean’s eyes as Emmanuel watched the poison spread from the bite to infect his soul.

The guilt. Even now, it was close to overwhelming. 

It wasn’t like Emmanuel was unfamiliar with guilt. He had lost people. It had only been a month after he’d awoken as an amnesiac that the croatoan outbreak had begun. Daphne…

Emmanuel reached for his pocket, searching in vain for his clonazepam. The container must have fallen out while he was running. 

Still, there were people he had lost. People that had died because of his poor leadership, or because he hadn’t been quick enough to heal them. For some reason, the guilt over Dean was magnitudes larger. 

Dean did have a point. How the hell was he going to find a cure?

* * *

 

“So, why am I sitting cross-legged on the floor?”

“I need to examine how the virus interacts with your soul.”

“And that will help you find a cure?”

Emmanuel opened one eye in a glare.

“Sit still. And, uh. Maybe?”

“Maybe?

“As you are so fond of bringing up, I haven’t ever healed anyone infected with the croatoan virus. I’m not exactly following a manual.”

Dean grinned.

Emmanuel sighed, before settling again. His breathing slowed, and the tendrils of his soul-light began to swirl with more purpose. It was always interesting to watch Emmanuel manipulate his soul-light. So far as Dean knew, Emmanuel was the only being in existence that possessed the ability.

One wisp of light began to separate, drifting closer until it was hovering just above his skin. 

Dean watched, fascinated, as the soul-light brushed against his inner forearm. It felt almost ticklish, but also like sunlight, but also like rubbing alcohol evaporating off his skin. His own soul-light was beginning to shift as Emmanuel pressed closer, and then it seemed to split apart.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, watching as Emmanuel’s soul-light began to fracture and split, spiderweb strings darting away inside his flesh. Looping curlicues traced up his arms, and across his chest, contrasting with the dull yellow of his own soul-light.

The sensation wasn’t exactly comfortable, though it wasn’t quite painful either. He grit his teeth against it, pushing the feeling away. 

Emmanuel was frowning now, gently rocking back and forth where he sat. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his hands—both resting on his knees in some stereotypical lotus pose—were beginning to tremble. A thin filament of light joined them.

The feelings began to grow more intense. It felt almost like someone had grabbed all those strings and drawn them tight. 

And electrified them.

Dean hissed, springing away from the other man. Thankfully, the sudden movement was enough to break the connection.

Emmanuel yelped, curling in on himself as if he was in pain.

“What was that?” Dean demanded.

Emmanuel didn’t answer at first, letting out a low groan as he rubbed at his temples. 

“Emmanuel!”

“What? Why the hell are you being so loud?”

“What the hell were you doing?”

“I—I don’t know, I was—trying to work out what went wrong. Where the virus is attached.”

“What’s with all the glowy voodoo?”

“Well, the virus is attached to your soul, right? I was trying to find out how exactly it’s corrupting you. I mean, it’s not like you’re a proper demon or anything. Your soul hasn’t been destroyed, it’s just…tainted.”

Dean blinked, before settling in front of his pet once more.

“Did you find anything interesting?”

Emmanuel gave him a shrewd look, still cradling his head. Blood was beginning to trickle from his nose. Dean watched as it reached his lip, only to be whisked away by Emmanuel’s tongue. 

Emmanuel raised one eyebrow, to which Dean only shrugged.

“Well, you’re definitely a croatoan now.”

“Aw, thanks, doc. I was worried I had the measles. Glad to know it’s not serious.”

“Shut up.” Emmanuel rolled one shoulder, before settling into a slouch. “Like I said, the virus infects more than just the body. Essentially, your soul is sick. It’s a part of what makes the whole thing so pernicious, and why the more scientific remedies the CDC tried never worked. They were only seeing half of the picture.”

“Get to the part where you tell me something new.”

“Did you know that cats have barbed penises?”

“Excuse me?”

“You asked for something new. All I’ve been able to do today is confirm I can’t heal you.”

“Something new, and you go with cat dicks?”

“I am certain the females were not consulted about it. It seems rather rude, to me.”

Dean blinked. Even half-lounging, blood smeared across one cheek, Emmanuel seemed very serious about the indignity faced by female cats.

Eventually, Dean snorted, mimicking his posture. “You said you remember me, like you knew me? From before?”

“Bits and pieces, yeah. Why?”

“Bits and pieces, what, do you have amnesia or something?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Until a few hours ago, I had no memories from before four years ago. Apparently, whatever happened during our last meeting was traumatising enough I blanked it all out.”

“So, you don’t know me.”

“I don’t remember much, but I know you were Dean Winchester. I know we met through our, uh,  _ work _ . I know we were friends. And I know we were running from something, some organization, before everything went to Hell.”

“Anything else?”

“Is there something specific you want to know?” Emmanuel asked, arching one eyebrow.

Dean considered asking about the tall, dark-haired man. About the fire. About why torture seemed to come so naturally to him, or why he knew so much about how to hunt monsters. 

“Just curious, is all.”

* * *

 

Civilization had basically imploded several years ago, but living as a part of a large, cohesive survivalist community certainly made it easier to bear. Food and medication was always sparse, but there was company, light, heat. They farmed what little they could, and kept chickens for eggs, and hunted game for meat and pelts. They had bathing facilities—albeit, limited ones—and they even had regular meetings for pleasurable activities, for everything from knitting to weddings to orgies. Living among them was even close to comfortable sometimes. 

Dean’s nest was not comfortable.

The building itself was half-falling into disrepair, and the smell of mildew permeated everything. There was no electricity of course, but there was also no possibility of lighting a fire without risking the whole place going up. Most importantly, Dean’s followers apparently survived without eating, which left him alone as the sole scavenger searching for scraps of food within a well-raided city.  

It was quiet, too. Enough to make your teeth ache.

Emmanuel’s memories of before the crisis were still overwhelmingly compromised, but he did have the impression that there had been a lot more noise in the time Before. The distant hum of cars along motorways, the chattering noise of thousands of humans congregating in one place, trains, planes, music and mechanisation. 

Now, the only sounds he ever heard were entirely natural. Birds calling, coyotes shrieking, insects droning. Rainstorms and rivers and thunderclaps. The low rustling of creatures in the undergrowth.

Some people might have called the noises peaceful, in the time before. Now they were resonant, echoing, empty.

Alone.

It was quietest in the cities, eerily so. The animals seemed to sense the presence of the croatoan. Many of them avoided cities entirely, leaving huge pools of silence. The city sounded dead.

In the week he had been living among Dean’s croatoan troop, he had heard less than two dozen words spoken aloud. The silence was beginning to grate along his nerves.

Mostly, Dean chose not to interact with him, unless Emmanuel sought him out. He lounged within his nest, seemingly in some sort of trance, ignoring the world around. Emmanuel had grown bored very quickly. 

Exploring the city provided some relief, as well as serving the purpose to familiarise himself with his surroundings. There was no guarantee that Dean would remain so cordial, and good knowledge of escape routes could be his salvation. 

One thing he discovered was that he had been severely underestimating the number of croatoans within the city limits. The streets were fairly teeming with them, wandering and picking over rubble, or else waiting as sentries, motionless in strategic places, gazing up and down the street. 

It was unnerving, particularly without the presence of conversation. 

It took a few hours to set up a new water barrel. Three croatoans watched from nearby as he collected materials. They followed as he made his way to a rooftop and began to assemble it. 

None of his attempts to start a conversation were effective. Mostly the three of them stared, eyes uncomprehending, until he began to speak about Dean. When he asked how they came to follow the man, all three of them burst into simultaneous, deep laughter. Just as abruptly, they fell silent. 

Emmanuel didn’t try to speak to them again.

* * *

 

It didn’t take very long to slip into a routine. 

In the early mornings, Emmanuel would awaken, and revive the embers of his fire. If he had food left over, he would eat it, before going to check on his water barrels. He would spend most of his day exploring, searching for food and hyper-aware of Dean’s servants watching from nearby.

Food was very scarce. Years of raids meant very little long-life food was still left within the confines of the city. There were still scraps left, hidden from or rejected by earlier raiders, but it was proving very difficult to find anything at all. 

At this rate, he was likely to die of malnutrition within the next month or so, even accustomed as he was to infrequent and unfulfilling meals. 

Once he grew bored of the unfruitful searching, he would wander back towards wherever Dean was. The exact location seemed to change on a daily basis, but it never took long to discover him. After a little cajoling, Dean would sit and allow him to run his healing ability against Dean’s skin. 

It never worked, of course. Dean never changed, or appeared to recall the time Before. The virus never weakened the stranglehold it had over his soul.

Despite the confidence he projected, Emmanuel knew the stress was beginning to get to him. As the sole uninfected human in the centre of a large croatoan community, it was understandable. He couldn’t risk relaxing too much, and he definitely couldn’t use any of the pills he’d managed to scavenge. 

The withdrawal was beginning to kick his ass. A semi-permanent headache, random body aches and nausea were unwelcome companions, but altogether it was much preferable to getting caught high by any of Dean’s predatory underlings. Combined with the lack of any substantial food, he was feeling like refried crap.

Emmanuel did his best to hide his weakening state. While most of the croatoans scattered around the city seemed entirely indifferent to his presence, there were a few who stared closely whenever he walked past, something feral in their eyes.

He understood, of course. Having a human around was putting their instincts to attack into direct conflict with their obedience to their leader. He was surprised it took even as long as a few days before one of them snapped. Luckily, he had had a machete with him, and he had managed to escape without a scratch or bite to infect him. 

Dean had found the entire encounter hilarious, apparently.

Interacting with Dean was interesting. He was clearly intelligent, and craved mental stimulation. Despite having no memories of anything but hunting, Dean made a good conversationalist. He was quick, and somewhat witty. Emmanuel found himself seeking Dean out more frequently as time went on—though, if he were honest with himself, he wasn’t sure how much of that was a craving for social interaction versus actually enjoying Dean’s company. 

It was, he estimated, nearly two weeks after he had followed Dean into enemy territory that things all fell apart.

Emmanuel hadn’t realised that he had begun to recognise Dean’s followers until he saw a small group of croatoans he couldn’t identify. 

They had attacked, of course. Sprinting for cover, Emmanuel found his vision fading in and out. His heart was drumming far too quickly, and he could barely focus. 

He stumbled badly, flying forwards to roll across the blacktop. Stunned, he blinked up towards the sky.

This was it. 

He was dead.

Eyes closed, he waited as he heard the croatoan move closer. His breathing was uneven, his heartbeat still pounding within his chest. He could probably at least take out one or two croats before he died. Tensing, he prepared himself to attack.

The footsteps paused by his head.

“Emmanuel. What are you doing down there?”

“Dean?”

“Who the fuck else?”

It really shouldn’t have been a relief to see Dean above him. Once he caught his breath, Emmanuel began to lever himself up, watching as the last of the foreign croatoans was swiftly dispatched by Dean’s followers. Dean was already growing visibly bored as he gestured for them to leave. 

Emmanuel made to stand up. Failed. Leaned forwards over his raised knees to pant and stare at the ground. Dean noticed, of course.

“You’re weak.”

Emmanuel snorted, turning to face his rescuer directly. “You’re rude.”

Dean growled, stepping closer. “Why are you so weak?”

“Uh, I’m human?”

“No! You gave me the runaround for months, staying ten steps ahead of whatever I could throw at you. Now some random drones show up and you’re offering yourself up on a plate? What’s with that?”

Emmanuel only glared, but truthfully he was still feeling pretty faint. Already he felt on the edge of unconsciousness.

“Hey! I’m talking to you, you better answer!” Dean grabbed his wrist, wrenching him upright. Emmanuel gasped, head spinning, and suddenly he was retching, despite his near-empty stomach. Dean dropped him in disgust, and Emmanuel barely had enough forethought to roll to the side instead of collapsing into his own sick. 

Panting, he let his eyes fall shut. His body was beginning to tremble with the aftereffects of an adrenaline rush. He was going into shock.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat.”

Emmanuel frowned, squinting up at Dean. The man crouched by his head, face blank, and reached to poke him in the chest with one finger.

“You’re looking sallow, too, all skin and bones. Is that it? Have you not been eating?”

Emmanuel didn’t have the energy to answer. He closed his eyes again.

Dean slapped him across the face.

“No going to sleep during conversation time. It’s rude. Now answer me. Have you been starving yourself?”

Emmanuel glared up at him, forcing his throat to work.

“Not on purpose. Food. ‘t’s hard to find. Alone.”

Dean hummed, and seemed about to say something else, but apparently listening to obnoxious comments on his fragile humanity had proven too exhausting for Emmanuel. He fell into darkness.

* * *

 

Emmanuel awoke to the scent of broth. The room was dark, lit only by the flickering orange light of the fire. He was warm.  

Glancing to the fire, he noticed a covered pan, presumably the origin of the aroma.  

No one was nearby. 

Despite his hunger, Emmanuel was slow to lift himself from his bed. His arms still felt rather weak. 

The broth was plain, made from what he recognised as pigeon meat, chickweed and some sort of tuber. It was delicious, and it was only years of experience with semi-starvation that prevented him from gulping down the whole bowl in minutes.  

Stomach settled somewhat, he reclined on his bedroll again, preparing to meditate. Dean, of course, chose that moment to stride into the room. 

“You’ve eaten, now?” Dean asked. 

“And hello to you too.” 

Dean didn’t answer, instead settling on the opposite side of the fire. His eyes nearly glowed, demonic in the orange light. 

“Dean?” 

“You’re a fucking idiot. Why the hell would you starve yourself?”

Emmanuel glared. “It wasn’t like I did it on purpose! Do you know how difficult it is to find food here? Alone? I can only search so many abandoned shops and homes on my own!”

“I have nearly 600 slaves. You didn’t need to search for food at all.”

“Right. Yeah. Like I’m asking some random croatoan for help with my  _ human weakness _ ! They’d eat me alive!”

“Not if I didn’t want them to.” 

“You’re so fucking arrogant! How could you possibly believe they’ll obey you when you’re not there to enforce it?”

Dean was smirking. Emmanuel glared at him, but Dean refused to elaborate. Instead he passed over a second bowl of broth, and Emmanuel was hungry enough to accept quickly, despite his frustration. 

A few minutes later, he set aside the empty bowl, before turning to regard Dean. The man still appeared mildly amused, though his smirk had faded.

“So, where does this leave us?” Emmanuel asked.

Dean shrugged. “Apparently I haven’t been caring properly for my new pet.”

“I’m not a pet.”

“You live in my nest, and I provide food, safety and entertainment for you. You’re my pet.”

“Those are the requirements of any good host, it hardly makes me a pet.”

“So I will magnanimously command my slaves to provide food for my pet. If you are hungry, approach any of them and they will provide,” Dean said with a smug manner.

“Again, you just expect me to approach potentially hostile croatoans, with nothing more than your promise that they won’t attack me?”

“I know they won’t.”

“How? How are you certain?”

“Because I control them telepathically.”

Emmanuel blinked. Opened his mouth. Closed it. “Sorry, what?”

“Most of them are pretty much braindead. They’re basically extra eyes and hands.”

“Hold on one fucking minute! You’re telling me they’re all you? You control all of them, like some sort of hive mind?”

“Amazing. And it only took you two weeks living in the centre of a hive to learn. Kudos to you!”

“You bastard! I was sneaking around, trying not to seem weak in front of any of your followers so that I wouldn’t tempt them to attack, and you’re telling me they’re all you?”

Dean smirked. “Pretty much.”

“I nearly starved!”

“You could have asked for food.”

“I thought they’d attack me!” Emmanuel paused. “That’s a good point, actually. Why did you make some of them threaten me?”

“It was funny,” Dean shrugged. “It isn’t like we have cable here. I thought getting a pet would make things more interesting.”

“Ah. I get it. You’re lonely.”

“Not Lonely. Bored,” Dean scoffed, turning away.

“You’ve been living here with nothing but a heap of mindless drones. You’re lonely.”

Dean didn’t respond, or glance in his direction, which Emmanuel took to mean he’d guessed correctly. He allowed himself to savour the minor victory for a second, before a more pressing hunger drew his attention again. 

“Dean?” Dean’s eyes darted to meet his, quirking one eyebrow. “Now that we’ve finished with this lovely aside, can you command a few of those mindless drones to find me something more substantial to eat?”


	4. Bonding activities

The thing was, the longer he spent near Emmanuel, the more he began to actually remember. Nothing substantial, more like impressions, echoes from before. 

Random interests, things he was certain he’d never have come up with on his own.

Emmanuel asked his opinion on classic cars. Dean was surprised to find he even had an opinion, but he was certain that a car referred to as an Impala was superior to all others. He couldn’t picture the car in his head, but he knew the growl of its engines. He could nearly taste the scent of leather and exhaust fumes.

Weirder still when Emmanuel spoke about the physics of thermodynamics and Dean found himself not only able to keep up with the conversation, but bring forward his own points, sometimes before he was even aware he planned to speak. 

Most of the time, though, Emmanuel came up with random facts about animals or space. Non-sequiturs dumped into the middle of hours-long silences, seeming to require nothing more than Dean’s attention. Sometimes Dean would catch an expression on his face, this pleased confusion, as if Emmanuel wasn’t sure why he knew so much about this either. It was sort of endearing.

If he was being honest with himself, he was beginning to feel very fond of Emmanuel. He enjoyed his company, and their talks were sating an aspect of himself he hadn’t even been aware was starving. He could admit to himself, at least, that he may in fact be lonely.

It did lead him to an interesting conundrum now. Because, as much as he was fond of Emmanuel and valued his company, he still craved the euphoria of a good hunt. He still wanted to tear apart Emmanuel’s fragile human body and taste his blood between his teeth.

Dean resented him. This iridescent soul who appeared seemingly out of nowhere and disrupted his whole life. The soul who inspired him to ramble on about all sorts of irrelevant subjects and drew flickering sensations and memories up from the very depths of his mind. 

He wanted Emmanuel. Wanted to consume him, destroy him, praise him and hold him aloft above the pains of the world. He wanted to fuck him roughly, kiss him sweetly, bite through the flesh of his neck and mark him. Force Emmanuel’s mind to submit before his, keep him forever separate and unsullied. 

It was a frustrating dichotomy of opinion.

He caught Emmanuel masturbating once. 

The bright soul had managed to evade his drones, and Dean had been searching somewhat frantically to find him again. There had been several incursions from rival croatoans recently, and the fact that he hadn’t detected any nearby didn’t mean the city was safe. He would not allow Emmanuel to be stolen.

A moan had caught his attention, and he moved his drones closer.

Emmanuel didn’t seem particularly surprised at being discovered. He glanced over only once, before returning to his activity. Dean had arrived a few minutes later, in time to watch as Emmanuel arched upwards into his own fist and came.

“Dean. I was wondering when you’d arrive,” Emmanuel sighed as he stretched. “Did you like the show?”

“It wasn’t bad. I’d enjoy it more if I was taking part.”

Emmanuel even seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking his head. “Nah. You’re beautiful, I’ll admit, but I’ll be flying solo until I find someone clean.”

“Ouch.”

“You know, I can’t remember if we ever engaged in any sexual activity together before everything. Pretty sure I was a virgin when we first met, though.”

“You’re just coming up with all sorts of interesting factoids today, aren’t you?”

“Were you sexually attracted to me before?” Emmanuel mused. “I think you might have been. You never admitted it, though.”

“Eh. I’m horny now, and that’s what matters, right? You gonna help me out?”

“A hard no, there.”

“Tease.”

“Yes, and your point is?”

At no instance during their conversation did Emmanuel make any move to cover himself. His body stretched, languid and splattered with the evidence of his satisfaction. It was a rather riveting sight.

Briefly, Dean considered ignoring Emmanuel’s rejection. Pinning him down and taking whatever pleasures he wanted from Emmanuel’s body. 

He dismissed the impulse easily enough. The whole point of keeping Emmanuel here was to watch him slowly break down as he failed to find a cure for the virus. It wouldn’t do to ruin his fun early by infecting him. And in the meantime, Emmanuel did make a very pretty picture.

Eventually, his trailing eyes made their way back up to Emmanuel’s face. The man was staring back, unperturbed by his focus.

“You definitely appreciate the visual,” Emmanuel drawled. “It’s okay. You can look if you want. I don’t mind.”

“If you keep giving me permission to attack you and watch you and stuff, I might get it into my head that you belong to me.” 

“I’m utterly indifferent to your appraisal, Dean. Look all you want.”

With that, Emmanuel seemed to settle in as if for a nap. 

Dean really liked this guy.

* * *

 

“Do you remember someone called Sam?”

“Sam? I—I think so. Maybe. Uh—” Emmanuel began to gesture with his hands. “About this tall, long hair, greenish eyes. Friendly, but troubled.”

“Seems to ring a bell, but I can’t remember anything solid.”

“Damn.

* * *

 

“Emmanuel’s not my real name, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhm. Daphne chose it for me, after she saved me. I can’t remember my old name.”

“I bet it was something stupid and ordinary. Like Steve.”

Emmanuel snorted. “Could you imagine me as a faith healer slash hedonistic junkie with a name like Steve?”

“I dunno, you’d probably make it work.”

“Emmanuel has respectability to it. It’s unusual and otherworldly.”

“Or what about Jimmy? I can imagine you as a Jimmy.”

Emmanuel was silent for a moment. “You know what? Jimmy does sound familiar somehow.”

“Yeah? I bet that’s your real name.”

“It still doesn’t feel quite right.”

They both fell silent.

“Who is Daphne, anyway?” Dean asked.

“Like I said, she is the one who saved me. She found me immediately after I lost my memory, wandering around naked beside a stream.”

“Why were you naked?”

“Wish I knew.”

“And she…what? Takes you home like some lost puppy?” Dean glanced over when he didn’t answer immediately, and was amused to see his cheeks were growing red. “Emmanuel?”

“Embarrassingly, the comparison is rather apt. I was completely lost and confused about how the world worked. She appeared like a saviour out of the blue, took me home and cleaned me up. I was…enamoured…with her kindness. She declared us married, and I was proud to be her husband.”

“Dude! You’re married?”

“No. She just told me we were. I’ll admit, it was several months before I began to suspect there was anything unusual about the circumstances I found myself in, but I was rather naïve back then. Of course, it wasn’t long after she found me that the croatoan virus outbreak began.”

“What happened to her?”

“She was infected, same as most of her town. She held out longer than most, as she was against vaccinations, but it only took so long before the infected population began to grow past the quarantines.”

“You know, I’d say I’m sorry, but we both know I don’t give a damn.”

“Apologies are unnecessary. You are not at fault for her death.”

“Yeah, but, it’s the human way, or whatever.”

“I am beginning to suspect I was never much like other humans.”

Dean ran his eyes over his twisting, magnesium-bright soul-light.

“Yeah. That is one thing we can definitely agree on.”

* * *

 

“Do you believe in angels?”

Emmanuel seemed to think things over carefully, before answering. 

“I used to think there was a God. Daphne told me my powers were a gift from him, a chance to help the world. But since the virus outbreak, my abilities have become a lot less reliable, and somewhat weaker. I didn’t need to sleep or eat, back then. Now I’m the same as any other human. It’s obvious something happened.”

“What, you think God’s dead now, or something?”

“Or something. Either way,I don’t like the idea of any deity who could watch this all happen and refuse to interfere.”

“So, angels?”

“I think they probably don’t exist.”

“I’m not sure, myself. All the other creatures I remember from before turned out to be real. Also, I keep seeing this symbol in my head. I think it was used to fight angels.”

“Fight them? Why would anybody want to? Surely they’re the kind of beings you welcome?”

“I dunno. They’re powerful, right? Who’s to say they haven’t gone mad with power?”

“I guess.”

“Also, there’s your soul-light.”

“How the hell is my soul-light proof for angels?”

“It just, it is sort of shaped as if you have wings.” 

“That isn’t proof.”

“What if you’re part-angel, or something?”

“Then I’d be a pretty piss-poor example of one.”

Dean snorted, but he let the conversation drop.

* * *

 

“Bored.”

“Join the club.”

They were both lying on their backs, staring at the ceiling.

“What did you used to do when you were bored?” Dean asked.

“Got high and ran orgies. You?”

“Attacked the neighbouring croatoan nest.” Dean paused. “I like the sound of your orgy thing, though.”

“Nice try,” Emmanuel snorted. “Besides, how would that even work? All your extra bodies are just you again. Surely that falls under masturbation. And wouldn’t it be riddled with consent issues? I mean, more than half of your slaves retain parts of their mind. Forcing them to submit to another mind…” 

“I make it work.”

Emmanuel gave him a sharp glance. “I do not want to know, and you will not be telling me.”

“Come on, not even about the time I—”

“Dean.”

“Or that time with the—”

“Dean. Shut up.”

“Fine, Christ. We can add that to the list of ‘stuff Manny feels guilty Dean did while he was croatoan’.”

Emmanuel sighed. “Why can’t we attack the neighbouring nest?”

“I assimilated them right before attacking your camp.”

Emmanuel was silent. Dean blinked, turning to observe the man as he sat up and began to walk away. 

“Emmanuel?”

“Why is it so easy to forget you murdered my friends?”

Dean sat up, frowning at him. He moved two of his drones to block the entrance, unsurprised when Emmanuel simply killed one in an attempt to remove the barricade.

“Come on, really? You kill my followers all the time!”

“Your followers are braindead puppets, for the most part. I’ve learned how to spot the ones with no consciousness.” Despite the entryway being clear now, Emmanuel didn’t leave. Dean moved to his feet.

“I thought you wanted to _ fix me,  _ or whatever. Now you’re running?” Dean taunted. 

“Exactly how do I go about  _ fixing _ you, Dean? You show no remorse, and I know for a fact that you are still sating your sadistic desires where I cannot see. It is obvious that healing you of the virus is beyond my capabilities.”

“Like you didn’t know that going in!”

“Doesn’t mean I care for the reminder.” 

"Are you serious? You need a reminder?" Dean snorted. "I haven't been hiding anything, sweetheart. If you can't remember that I murdered your friends, that is no problem of mine!" 

Emmanuel spun around to face him, glaring harshly. Dean grinned, baring his teeth. 

Dean reached forwards, trailing a finger along his cheek. Emmanuel flinched away from his touch. 

"You know, I decided to flay Lucas myself. That personal touch, it just makes it so much more, hmm, delicious. He was catatonic at first, barely responded even when I broke his fingers. But I'm a professional. By the time I caught Lily—did I mention she nearly escaped? She came so close to living—Lucas was screaming with the best of them. I shredded the fibres of his spinal column between my fingers." 

Emmanuel was trembling now, his eyes bright.  

"What's wrong with you, Emmanuel?" Dean purred, gently tracing the path of one falling tear. "What's broken in that head of yours? Some abstract memory of loving me, and you choose to ignore what I am. Are you that comfortable being my pet? Do you want me to keep you, feed you long pig stew, while you pretend I'm not still killing people?" 

Dean watched, greedily taking in the vision of Emmanuel weeping, the desolate line of his shoulders, the sluggish swirling of his soul-light. Splinters of pain lit him up from within like mycelium threads. Dean felt his mouth water. 

A low chuckle drew his attention back to the physical.  

Emmanuel was smiling, eyes still damp and shaking his head as if Dean had said something particularly amusing. 

Dean blinked, suddenly unsure.  

"That's the best you can do to hurt me? Recycling my own guilt and self-doubt? I know I'm broken, Dean. That was never in question. But for some godforsaken reason, I seem to have been blessed with the ability to do a little good. I know I have helped make this life a little more bearable for some of the people unlucky enough to live through the apocalypse." 

"Doesn't change the fact that you can't heal me, does it—" 

"Are you sure about that, Dean? Absolutely certain?" 

"Since I'm still croatoan, I'm gonna go with yes." 

"But you need to remind me that you're 'evil'. You don't kill in front of me. You don't use your followers to attack me. You let me live." 

"All part of the long game, darling." 

"Is it? Really? Because I think you're lying. I think you like having me around to talk to, and you want to keep me happy. I think you want me to forget that you murder for fun. You want me to like you." 

"That's the most ridiculous fucking thing I've ever heard." 

"You brought me a Rubik's cube yesterday because I said I was bored." 

"Fuck off." 

"Somewhere under all this, you're still there. You're still you." 

Dean snarled, grabbing Emmanuel around the throat, but it wasn't enough to wipe the grin from his lips. His soul-light began to writhe beneath his skin, burning Dean's hand. Dean threw him against the wall. 

Emmanuel was laughing.  

Something twitched along the edge of Dean's senses. “Be quiet." 

“Dean—” 

“No, shut up! A sentry’s spotted something.” 

Emmanuel fell silent, staring back at him. Dean half-closed his eyes, quickly filtering through the plentiful sensory signals and collating them back into a coherent whole. The demon was located to the north-east of his city, currently wandering the streets. Sentries posted on the rooftops identified several more demons approaching from the same direction, all of varying strength.  

Dean grinned. “You wanted entertainment, right? How does a demon hunt sound?”

Something feral flickered to life behind Emmanuel’s eyes, the bright arches of soul-light behind his shoulders writhing in anticipation.

“Well, let’s go.”

* * *

 

Fighting alongside Emmanuel was fascinating. The way he moved, it was practically dancing, his voice belting out a vicious chant in a language he’d never heard before. Whatever it was, it sent the demons burning and sizzling within their own vessels, leaving them as easy pickings for his drones.

And then things went wrong. 

An unnatural screech drew his attention, his eyes falling onto a demon he had the misfortune to recognise as one of Lucifer’s henchmen.

“Slaves! How dare you rebel against your betters?”

The human body it possessed was a tall woman, with vibrant red hair and imposing cheekbones. It drew her features into a smirk as it surveyed the combat field.

“Though, I suppose it is a useful way to weed out the weaker elements of Lucifer’s army. What self-respecting demon could be overcome by this disease-ridden lot? Hell has become so much weaker during my time away.”

Nearly obscuring its vessel, the creature was unlike any demon Dean had ever seen. It was practically Lovecraftian, all teeth and writhing smoke and burning eyes and rage and brutality. With only the flick of one limb, the demon destroyed seven of his drones, leaving their broken shells sprawled on the floor. 

Dean drew closer to Emmanuel, shifting his drones in a poor effort to conceal the iridescent soul from notice. Emmanuel seemed uncertain, glancing to him in something akin to gratefulness. 

Dean threw several more drones towards the demon, and it was enough to confirm his suspicions. This demon was far too powerful to attack head-on, especially unprepared as he was. What was meant to be a simple hunt had just gotten far more complex.

He hadn’t survived this long by being reckless. Dean began to move away, gripping firmly around Emmanuel’s wrist when it appeared the man wasn’t going to leave. The demon hadn’t noticed them yet. There was still time for a strategic retreat.

Emmanuel still wasn’t moving. Dean tried again to drag him away from the demon, but it appeared something had changed. Emmanuel was staring at the demon with something that could easily be labelled outright hate. He looked on the verge of growling! Actual like-a-dog growling!

Dean frowned before giving up and turning to leave alone. He wasn’t going to risk himself against a demon of this calibre, not even for a soul as interesting as Emmanuel.

Of course, that was when the demon noticed them.

“Well, well, well. What have we here? I thought  _ your _ kind were better than playing around in the mud.”

Emmanuel tensed. “What are you talking about?”

“No matter. I’m not here for you today.” She turned to face Dean. “Where is Pestilence?”

“How the Hell should I know?”

“Insolent worm!” she shrieked, lunging forwards across the battlefield. Panicking, Dean dove to one side, sprinting for cover. His drones were moving in an agitated fashion, responding to his panicked impulses—some attacked the mighty demon, while others fled or ducked for cover. It did little to hold her back, however, and a second later, he felt a weight like a two-tonne truck slam into his back.

Dazed, all he could do was stare up to the sky as the demon strode closer.

“My name is Abaddon. Hello. I’ll be your tormentor today.”

Oh shit. Abaddon. Literal Knight of Hell, and leader of all Hell’s warriors. He really was screwed. 

“You will not touch Dean!” Emmanuel called out across the field, from wherever he’d gotten to. Fucking hell, his pet was an idiot.  _ The demon had been ignoring him! _

“Don’t get your wings ruffled, Castiel. I can make time to play with you too.”

Castiel?

There was a flare of light—a crackling of static through the air—and suddenly Abaddon no longer loomed above him. She screeched, her vessel rippling with orange fire from within, before she seemingly took control once more.  

Dean turned away, glancing towards his saviour, only to lose what little breath he had left in his body. Emmanuel was different. 

He was beautiful. 

Snarling, Abaddon righted herself before launching towards Emmanuel faster than the eye could track. Emmanuel met her attack, glowing ribbons of light sliding forwards into her smoke-body. 

Dean, glancing between the two, did the smart thing and took the opportunity to back away. 

The fight was vicious. Brutal. Both vessels were thrown around with forces that could break bone. Unholy roars echoed across the combat field, countered by a high-pitched whistling shriek. 

Emmanuel was fast. Faster than Dean. Faster than most human reflexes could perceive. He was powerful.

Months. It had been months since Emmanuel had joined him. Months since this—this creature had come to reside with him, and only now was he getting anything like a show of his power. All of that energy, tightly wrapped within the magnesium-bright soul, lying dormant. 

Emmanuel could easily have killed him several times over, he realised. Snuffed him right out. He had no need for stealth.

How much more powerful was Abaddon that she was gaining on him?

Dean frowned, quickly assessing the fight. Though Emmanuel’s attacks were each powerful in their own right, they appeared to be doing minimal damage to Abaddon. In fact, it looked as if she was actually able to heal herself. This, combined with the obvious difference in their stamina, was leading to only one conclusion.

Emmanuel was going to lose.

Dean shifted his shoulders, moving several of his drones closer. He needed to be of assistance, somehow. Abaddon may be powerful, but so was Emmanuel. He was sure he could work it to his advantage. 

He simply needed to wait until the opportune moment. 

Dean’s chance arrived just as Abaddon pinned Emmanuel’s vessel to the ground. Black smoke-teeth closed around his silky light, tearing it apart as easily as tissue paper. Emmanuel screamed, arching sharply in pain. 

Dean leapt forwards and sliced off Abaddon’s head. For a moment, it seemed as if she would merely reassemble herself, before the roiling black smoke began to settle once more, dormant within her vessel. 

Dean grinned, allowing several of his drones to move forwards, each latching onto a piece of her and tearing her apart. 

He turned back to Emmanuel. 

Something was wrong. 

Emmanuel’s light was gone. 


	5. The fight and the separation

This wasn’t right. 

Emmanuel couldn’t be dead.

Falling to the ground before him, Dean checked over his vessel quickly for signs of life, relaxing minutely as he discovered a rapidly fading heartbeat. Looking closely, his soul-light was still glowing dimly, though it also appeared to be going out.

Emmanuel wasn’t dead, simply dying.

This left Dean in an interesting position. 

Emmanuel was dying. 

Any regular human would be dead by now, and it seemed only his supernatural resilience that had saved him so far. There was no guarantee he could heal from this, though. Sure, he had healing powers, but from the few demonstrations Dean’d seen, none of Emmanuel’s abilities seemed to be instinctive, or even the kind that could be used on oneself. 

Which left them exactly where they’d begun. With Emmanuel dying. 

There was one possibility, of course. Dean could infect him. The virus would destroy his memories and corrupt the beautiful light of his soul, but some essence of the man would be retained. If Dean timed it right, he could even memorise some of Emmanuel’s last thoughts and impressions, before his mind was effectively lobotomised. 

It was a shame, really. He had begun to appreciate, of late, the ways in which a mind that wasn’t simply a subset of your own could contribute to socialisation. He would miss their chats, and the intrigue of an independent mind.

Better to have some memories than none.

Leaning forwards, he bit Emmanuel’s lips in a rough kiss. His flesh split beneath Dean’s teeth, bleeding freely. He lapped at the copper taste, savouring it for a moment before diving back in for more. He didn’t taste quite as electric as Dean had been anticipating, but it was understandable considering how much of his soul-light had already leaked away. 

Retreating for a second, Dean bit at his own wrist before pressing the bloody wound against Emmanuel’s mouth. Honestly, he was pretty sure his saliva was enough to infect the man, but a little extra contagion couldn’t hurt. Satisfied, he leaned back in to really work the virus into Emmanuel’s bloodstream, licking at the bite on his lips. Emmanuel shifted slightly in his unconscious state, and Dean pressed closer, one hand moving to grip his shoulder tightly and hold him still. Even unmoving, Emmanuel’s mouth was enticing. 

Distracted as he was, Dean was still aware enough to register as four more demons approached. He broke the kiss once again, quickly hauling Emmanuel’s unresponsive body over one shoulder. The demons hadn’t spotted him yet, but he wasn’t going to risk another confrontation after losing so many drones. 

He paused. 

The ground where Emmanuel had been lying was covered in plants. New, fresh shoots were growing out from cracks in the pavement. Pretty energetically, actually. As he watched, the leaves grew larger, shifting to face towards the sun. One plant even began to flower. 

Weird. Maybe that was where all the soul-light had gone, bringing the plants to life.

Whatever Emmanuel thought, he was definitely not human. 

The demons were still approaching. Shifting his hold on Emmanuel, he left the area.

* * *

 

Dean had been walking for nearly an hour when Emmanuel began to come around. The man let out a low groan, and Dean quickly lowered him to the ground.

Emmanuel, it turned out, was not fully croatoan yet. Dean frowned. The infection usually didn’t take nearly this long. It looked all wrong, too. The tendrils of corruption, spreading from the infection point at his lips, were sinking through his dulled soul-light, but they looked nearly inflamed. Yellowish ichor seemed to drip from his ethereal body.

This was unlike any reaction he’d witnessed to infection by the croatoan virus. Usually people either died immediately, or the virus engulfed them. There were never these sorts of complications. 

Distantly, in the back of his mind, he felt some foreign awareness turn towards him, attention drawn by Dean’s own fascination with Emmanuel’s reaction. Pestilence. Dean snarled, attempting to throw up whatever mental shielding he could to keep the Horseman out. 

Pestilence would not see Emmanuel. Not now. Not ever. Emmanuel was  _ his. _ He was not some petri dish of Pestilence’s, to adapt the virus further. Dean would not allow it. Pestilence would not even get to see an _ image _ of his Emmanuel.

He felt Pestilence’s interest sharpen, enough that the whispers were beginning again. Follow. Obey. Bring him closer. 

Dean snarled again, moving to crouch above Emmanuel’s prone body. No. He would not. He would not. Emmanuel was his. Pestilence could never have him. 

Abruptly, he felt Pestilence’s presence in his head decrease, though he knew the Horseman was no less interested in what was going on. Dean sighed, relaxing somewhat. Still crouching above Emmanuel, he settled back, straddling the man’s hips.

Emmanuel had drifted back to full unconsciousness, unaware of the brief struggle that had occurred. 

Dean leaned closer, tracing a finger over his familiar features. Concealed behind these eyelids were the windows into this creature’s mind, into every snarky remark and every barbed quip. Beneath his skin, his soul-light pulsed slowly, in time with his heartbeat. His lips were still covered in bite marks, Dean’s claim carved into Emmanuel’s skin.

It wasn’t enough to establish a bond between them. The virus needed to progress further before Dean would be able to sense him, or attempt to force dominance over his mind. Emmanuel would be a fierce opponent, he believed. One who could possibly flip the situation, and force Dean to be the one to submit. 

There was no way to tell for sure, who would be the victor. 

When would there be any change? Either to fight off the croatoan virus or to succumb? Emmanuel had to awaken. Dean wasn’t done with him yet. Wasn’t sure he ever would be. 

He sighed, resting his forehead against Emmanuel’s. 

Emmanuel groaned.

Dean froze. Below him, Emmanuel shifted, groaning again. 

Sitting up, Dean grinned down at his companion.

With a gasp, Emmanuel’s eyes flew open. 

It quickly became clear the man wasn’t lucid. He groaned again, a pained noise, as his limbs began to twitch and spasm. Dean grabbed at his arms, pinning them down. Beneath his skin, Emmanuel’s soul-light was roiling. Looping coronas of light rippled, breaking free of his vessel. They stabbed into Dean’s flesh, each searing like boiling oil. He hissed, but held firm against Emmanuel’s fitting.

Suddenly, Emmanuel went limp, eyes falling shut. His soul-light calmed near instantly, fading back beneath his skin.

What the fuck was that about?

* * *

 

Emmanuel was certainly taking his sweet fucking time deciding to heal or die. 

Dean sighed, staring at the ceiling. Absently, he moved his drones through the surrounding area, searching for something—anything!—to entertain himself. He hadn’t seen anyone at all since Abaddon’s demons had cleared off, carrying her vessel away.

He hadn’t realised quite how heavily he had been relying on Emmanuel for amusement recently. What the Hell did he used to do when there was no hunting? Fuck, this was boring.

Once again, he felt his thoughts drift back to the battle against Abaddon. Emmanuel had been stunning, moving sinuously and fiercely to take advantage of any weakness shown by his opponent. 

Castiel, she had called him.

It was an odd name. Or perhaps a title. A species? No, a name sounded about right. Familiar, even, in a way the name Emmanuel never had. He could imagine Castiel—Cas—as his friend. 

Something flickered within his mind. Cas, standing shrouded in shadow, a subtle smile dancing across his lips, amused at Dean’s impertinence. Cas confiding his doubts as they watched over a playground full of children, all unaware of how close they had come to disaster. An intense feeling of hopeless desperation, dissipated only when Cas snuck closer to advise him, against the will of Cas’s family. Cas’s eyes, just…his eyes. 

They really had been friends, close friends. Brothers-in-arms, united against the machinations of Cas’s family. Cas was—had been—the only one he could trust to have his back, the only one he would trust to guard his—

To guard what? He couldn’t remember.

It was something vitally important, the most important thing. Person. Someone he had spent his entire life guarding, protecting, guiding, and he couldn’t remember.

Dean looked over to Cas. He was still unconscious, of course, the ragged tatters of his soul-light splayed out across the floor like wings—

Dean bolted upright, shifting to get a better view of Cas. 

Cas had wings. Real wings. 

This was him broken! This brilliant, iridescent light, the burning fire barely contained within his vessel—this was Cas reduced! His thunder-voice made nothing, the shimmering, multi-faceted glory of his being pared down, shattered by his own brothers. 

An angel. 

A real angel, one that had chosen him rather than following Heaven, and suffered for it. 

Cas had always been his. 

Dean settled again, eyes tracing over Castiel’s body with new interest. This flesh, it had once belonged to another, Jimmy Novak, before Cas had commandeered it for his use.

He wore it well.

What had happened that destroyed Cas’s memories? That part was still hazy. A lot was still hazy, including how they’d met in the first place, back then. 

Dean frowned.

This wasn’t…why did he suddenly believe this was so important? Whatever they were Before, that didn’t matter anymore. Cas was his pet, a fallen angel he’d hunted and caught and held captive in order to prolong his suffering. Cas’s grace-enriched blood would drip from his lips as Dean consumed him. He wasn’t…Dean wasn’t…he didn’t actually like the angel. He was just—

His head was spinning.

He felt sick.

Dean stood, quickly leaving the room. Hesitating, he moved a drone inside to watch over Cas (Cas standing sentinel, guarding them as they slept) and he was sprinting away, feet flying over the pavement (Cas appearing behind him with a fluttering sound, the subtle amusement in his eyes at Dean’s surprise) faster faster faster, the drones were running too, he had to move, had to escape (Cas tracing a sigil in blood against the wall, eyes bright and scared and daring)— 

He stumbled, smacking against one wall. He grasped at it, clawing for stability.  

The ground was heaving beneath his feet, and he sank to the floor, twisting to have the wall at his back. His head was pounding, splitting apart.

The drones were seething around him like wasps, and Pestilence grinned, sensing the weakness in his mental defences, sliding into his thoughts, dissecting them, analysing and cataloguing, moving closer, closer, such an interesting experiment! His virus, strong enough to incapacitate an angel! Maybe with some tweaking he could even make it powerful enough to destroy Lucifer, all he needed now was a new petri dish—

Something snapped. The link between their minds slammed shut. 

Quiet. 

Dean blinked, his body relaxing back against the wall. 

He stared at the sky for a while, head empty of everything except the way the clouds drifted, smears of light across the blue. As he watched, the sky began to shift colours, and the clouds kept moving, picking out pinks and yellows as the light began to fade. 

He must have been here for several hours already. Dean’s thoughts flickered back to Cas, who hadn’t moved in the time he was away. Watching through the eyes of his drone, Dean was pleased to find there were no more sudden flashbacks, or weird flares in his emotional state. He was in control again. Calm. Clear-headed. Master once more of his thoughts, and those of his followers, some 600 lesser beings. Owner of one pet fallen angel. 

He was beholden to no one. Not Pestilence, and certainly not his memories of Before.

Standing, he directed his drone to lift Cas over one shoulder, sending his runners ahead. He had to move, before Pestilence located him again. 

Cas was his.  

* * *

 

It had been nearly two days since Abaddon’s attack. Dean had moved location twice, trying to avoid notice by either the roaming bands of demons or Pestilence’s croatoans. He had the numbers to fight them off, of course, but not without alerting them to his location and drawing in hundreds more.

Once, he thought he’d even spotted Abaddon from a distance, wandering the streets in the same vessel he had beheaded. Hu supposed it was to be expected that she would be tough to kill, considering she was Lucifer’s right hand. 

Cas’s condition was the same as ever. The virus had come no closer to transforming him, but neither was he healing. Instead, it appeared he was caught in some agonising half-state.

Dean watched.

Even considering he was not the one to inflict the pain, it was interesting to watch as it twisted Cas’s features and sharpened his voice.

(something akin to horror wavered in the back of his head, screaming out to drop the blade and climb back onto the rack, begging for Cas to forgive him again, to save him again)

Dean’s lips formed a brittle smirk, and tried to feel a little less like Pandora toying with the lid of an empty box.

Slowly, so slowly it took two hours of continuous watching to notice, his soul-light—no, it was grace, wasn’t it? The light that made up Cas’s true being?—was brightening again. It had done this a couple times now, his grace pulsing and brightening before Cas appeared to wake, then began to fit. Each time so far, his grace had faded and he’d fallen back into that deep sleep.

The croatoan virus was still firmly strangling his grace, but with each hour as his light grew more luminous, the virus appeared to weaken. The corruption colours were beginning to fade, and the wounds to his soul nearly seemed to have healed. It was almost like some ethereal immune system. 

As with any infection, it appeared that fighting it off was all manners of uncomfortable. Cas’s vessel had been letting out low, pain-filled mumbles and groans almost the entire time he’d been unconscious. 

On the third day, the fever seemed to break. 

Cas awoke without fanfare. His eyes simply blinked open. 

“So, you’re better now?” Dean asked immediately.

Cas blinked before turning to him. 

Dean frowned. There was something different about Cas, but he couldn’t quite pin what.

“Dean.” Cas’s voice was the same, at least.

“I was getting ready to slice open your chest and play doctor.”

“Dean. I remember everything.”

“Remember what?”

“I’m an angel.”

Dean tensed, glaring at him. “So what? You’re mine now.”

Cas didn’t appear to be paying attention, instead taking stock of his injuries and surroundings. He frowned as he discovered the bite on his lips.

“I don’t remember getting this one from Abaddon.”

“That’s because it’s one of mine.”

Cas tensed, glancing towards him with shuttered eyes. “One of yours. You bit me?”

“Yep.”

“Why?” 

“You were dying. It was to save you. Some of you, at least.”

“By infecting me.”

Dean shrugged. 

“Dean. You tried to infect me.” Cas was glaring now. “You tried to kill me.”

“Save you,” Dean repeated. Stretching, he moved to a standing position. Cas followed him up, his wings arching over his shoulders like he was trying to be intimidating or something. “You were dying. It all worked out though, right?”

“I did not consent to being infected with this virus!”

“Hey, the infection didn’t take! It’s fine! Get over it! Besides, it’s not like I knew you could heal yourself.”

“Whether I could heal myself or not was irrelevant!” Cas snarled, stepping closer. His grace was surging behind him. “I explicitly told you I do not wish to be infected with the virus, and you disregarded that!”

“Because I didn’t want you gone! I actually kind of fucking like you—”

“I acknowledge that your aim was to save some of my memories and self, even if the rest was lost. For that reason, I will spare you today. But know this. The next time we meet, Dean Winchester, I will kill you.”

“Very intimidating. I’m shaking in my boots. But death threats don’t mean much when I know you want me alive.”

“Are you certain about that? Death could cure you just as effectively as any effort of mine.”

Cas turned on one heel, walking away, as if he had the fucking right to decide when they were done. Dean grabbed his shoulder, and spun Cas back to face him again. He ignored the mild burns on his hand from where Cas’s grace sparked against his skin.

“So that’s it, then? Times get tough, you have one pesky near-death experience, and you’re ready to call the whole thing a wash? What about owing me your life as reparations?”

“I did not possess the entirety of my memories as I do now. I know there is no way to retrieve the soul you once were, so the best I can offer is a peaceful death in your memory.”

The angel disappeared.

“Oh, come on! Flying away? Real mature!”

Cas didn’t reappear.

“Fuck.”

* * *

 

It was a few days after Cas left that Dean finally remembered about Sam. 


	6. Dean decides to hunt Lucifer

Sam.

Sammy.

Sam Winchester.

Born of John Winchester and Mary Campbell, raised by a loving family for the first six months of his life, until a demon named Azazel burned their mother alive in Sam’s nursery. 

(little Sammy, baby Sammy, look after Sammy, Dean, save your brother)

Dragged across the country in search of their mother’s killer, taught to shoot, to hunt, to track, to lie and cheat and pick locks and hijack police scanners. Protect Sammy. Save Sammy. 

But Sam didn’t want to be saved, didn’t want to hunt. Not until Jess burned, and Dean doomed himself to Hell, Ruby twisted his ear. Little Sammy was a killer now. The flame in his heart fanned into an inferno, a hunger for blood as insatiable as Dean’s.

Gone, now. He was gone away. Dean had sent him away.

The focus of his entire life since the age of four, and Dean had sent him away, scared and alone and confused.

And Lucifer had taken him.

Funny, how the croatoan virus twisted his memories. All the knowledge was there. Even the awareness that he should be more bothered by this, he should care that his brother was in danger, but all that was left was a hollow. He was detached. Funnier still, that his memories of Cas were not affected in the same way. 

(and how much better was the name Cas? Castiel? It just fit so much more exactly than Emmanuel. Somehow, those three syllables managed to entirely encompass and describe not only the vessel but all the swirling grace-fire that was the fallen angel. Actually, that was probably how it worked, considering Cas only recently acquired his body. For most of his existence, a name really had been all that described him) 

Maybe it was because Cas was an angel. Maybe it was because they’d met after his infection. Maybe it was because he could now see all that awesome (and he did mean that in the traditional way—awe-inspiring and terrifying) grace-fire that made up his celestial body. 

Whatever. 

Either way, his affection for the fallen angel was just as strong as Before, though he still hadn’t quite remembered when exactly it changed from the regard shared between friends into something more. This impossible, beautiful creature that had decided a broken thing like Dean deserved his loyalty and affection, and gave it without restraint.

He wanted to take it all, surround himself in Cas’s warmth until maybe he even believed he was worth the attention. He wanted to pour it all back, try and share even an ounce of it with Cas and let him realise everything was great. Everything was well. Cas wasn’t broken, or alone, or treasonous, and Dean adored him. 

Warring against his gentler instincts, the croatoan impulses were still present, demanding he take and consume and kill. Perhaps they always had been. They did feel frighteningly similar to the attitudes he had cultivated under Alastair’s careful eye.

Why did Sam inspire so little? Wasn’t he the whole reason for Dean’s resistance against Heaven? For his fighting? For everything? The fact that he could trust Cas to save Sam was at least a large part of the foundation of his friendship with the angel, so why didn’t the memories of Sam at least make him feel?

He had loved Sam, once. Would have done anything to protect him. But he was pretty certain if he came across his brother now, he’d only really be interested in how long he could withstand torture. At least the Hell memories were pretty useful, in that respect.

Mental fingers poked at the vacuum, the gap in his psyche, feeling the edges of it and exploring for fragments. There was an odd taste to the thoughts, twisted through with crystals of sulphur.

Was this what Cas had been talking about, back when he was Emmanuel? Memories recorded in the soul, and strangled out by the virus? They were very specific. Why was Sam the only one affected? He was the only one affected. The only set of memories purged of all emotion. 

Even Ruby got a less apathetic reaction. 

What made Sammy different?

Lucifer. He was Lucifer’s vessel. Pestilence’s enemy, presumably his only enemy, considering that the angels seemed to have fucked off. Pestilence wanted him able to kill his brother, should he ever encounter the man. Pestilence had been fucking with his memories, leaving some failsafe in case Dean ever got close to regaining what he had lost, however unlikely.

It was like there was some barrier between him and the memories. Some neural pathway that just was not connecting. He knew he’d felt all that crap before, all that love and fear and anger, but it was absent now. The memories didn’t disturb him any more than if he’d heard they happened to some vampire from halfway around the world.

Dean frowned. Why was he even focusing on this? That was all of what had made Dean Before. All that guilt and duty and anger and righteousness. It wasn’t relevant to the Dean of now. He should just drop it.

He couldn’t drop it. 

It was probably Cas’s fault.

* * *

 

The thing was, Dean had been a little possessive even before he got bit. He never had much—his car, his music, some favoured weapons—and he had always defended what belonged to him fiercely. 

Lucifer had stolen his brother, and that sort of pissed him off.

* * *

 

Dean watched the approaching entity with all due caution, despite the easiness in his bearing. His drones provided a 360 degree view in plasma-colour, picking up every spark of power flowing free as he walked closer. 

Pestilence, accompanied by an entourage of croatoan elite. If he had so chosen, Dean could be one of their rank, surrendering his free agency for the bliss of mindless raging obedience.

“I noticed you’ve chosen to reclaim your old name, Dean Winchester. Tell me, is your angel friend nearby?” Pestilence asked.

Dean wasn’t able to stifle the growl that swept across his drones. If he were less irritated, he might have felt embarrassed by that slip of control.

“Cas is mine.”

“I’m sure. Didn’t stop him from leaving, though, did it?”

“You will not touch him!” Dean growled.

“Whoa, there! That’s a little aggressive, considering you were the one to invite me over.”

Dean glared. Pestilence gave a pleased little grin, humming to himself as if he had all the time in the world. The bastard. He already knew enough of Dean’s thoughts to know exactly why Dean had called to him. 

“I’m going after Lucifer.”

“Ah.”

How did one hunt the Archangel responsible for the apocalypse? 

Simple. 

Tell the entity seeking to use you as a weapon against Lucifer that you were willing to succumb.

* * *

 

Letting Pestilence reign control over him was an uncomfortable sensation. Unlike his own drones, Dean didn’t lose his sense of self or purpose under Pestilence’s hand. He figured that was part of some hope that Castiel would return rather than any concern for Dean’s comfort. 

He could feel the others on the edge of his thoughts, a vast network spanning every continent. The buzz of a billion minds, all of the infected on Earth. If he dwelled on it too long he could feel himself begin to slip, to drown within it all. 

He blocked it out when he could. 

Pestilence was a rather efficient commander, as it turned out. He had been tracking Lucifer for years, ever since Famine died. It was rather obviously Lucifer’s handiwork, a bid to steal his ring and all the powers associated with it. Pestilence had been fighting back ever since.

It took Dean several weeks to recognise the ring on Pestilence’s finger as the gold band he’d once severed from War’s hand. That explained Pestilence’s unnatural aptitude for war games. 

Pestilence, it seemed, was wise to Dean’s plans. He kept the exact location of Lucifer a secret, although he did begin to manoeuvre Dean and his followers in order to intercept several of his demons.  

Apparently, even anticipating betrayal, Pestilence was arrogant enough for Dean to gain the advantage. The Horseman obviously had paid no attention to Dean’s memories of hunting strategy, or he would know by now that he had given more than enough information for Dean to locate Lucifer. 

(Perhaps that was his plan. Encourage Dean to hunt Lucifer, and he wouldn’t need to. Or perhaps to hope Dean’s anger at Lucifer outweighed his anger for Pestilence, enough for them to remain allies.) 

The problem was, simply knowing where Lucifer was didn’t mean Dean had a way to kill him. If Cas could recover from the croatoan virus, then surely Lucifer could too, and really Dean had no weapon on him other than his teeth and supernaturally enhanced strength and speed. He couldn’t craft advanced diseases or viruses and hope they would work, and the Colt had been destroyed, as far as he knew. 

Besides, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to kill Lucifer. It would be pretty hard to kill him without also killing Sam, and while he didn’t particularly care if Sam died, it would be better by far to see if his brother could witness his vengeance. Perhaps even take part. It could be a brotherly bonding activity!

Until he could imagine an effective method for subduing the Devil, he resigned himself to slavery.

* * *

 

Some days, he could barely focus on anything other than Cas. It was sort of inevitable, considering how much free time he had, now that he was simply a puppet. 

Cas’s absence from his side was like an ache, like a hunger, and he had no idea how to sate it. 

Obviously Cas was gone. Escaped to wherever was safe on this godforsaken rock, to wherever Dean wasn’t. Maybe he’d gone back to save his humans, the ones from his camp.

Dean growled. 

(Or at least, he tried to. Pestilence was using his body right now, spying on some demon nest.)

They didn’t deserve Cas. Cas was his. Had been his ever since the angel rebelled from the authority of Heaven to help him save Sam from Lilith. 

Castiel was devoted to him, obsessively so. It wouldn’t take long before the angel came back to check on him. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. 

And then, Dean would catch him. Immobilise him. He’d use every one of the drones he controlled if it was necessary, but he would subdue the angel, and claim him. Kiss him. Drown himself in Cas’s grace. And then he would keep the angel by his side, until Lucifer destroyed what was left of the world and everything went black.

* * *

 

It was nearly two months after he’d last seen Cas. A hundred of his followers were dead or missing, he hadn’t been keeping track. Pestilence’s casualties, they barely mattered. It did feel weird, though, to feel his fractal vision reduce by nearly a sixth.

Why had he thought following Pestilence was a good idea? Lucifer didn’t exactly try to hide himself, surely Dean would have tracked him eventually.

This was all Cas’s fault, for bringing back the memory of Sam. 

Cas. 

Castiel. 

He remembered the angel lounging beside him in a classic car. He remembered the look of confusion on his face as he regarded a milkshake for the first time. He remembered convincing Cas to try wearing other clothing than his suit and trench coat. 

Cas was his. 

Cas had always been his.

Dean paused, surveying the clearing.

Cas was here.

Dean froze, waiting for Pestilence’s mind to bear down against his and force control over his limbs, force him to hunt Cas, capture him, present him gift-wrapped to his slave-master—

There was no pull. Pestilence hadn’t noticed yet.

(did he really muse on Cas that often that Pestilence didn’t notice when the man showed up before him?)

He carefully muffled the connection to Pestilence, slowly reducing the depth of the bond, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Castiel, meditating on the other side of the clearing, didn’t appear to be aware of him yet, but Dean knew better than to assume Cas was oblivious to his presence. Unlike some supernatural beings, Cas was an intelligent, efficient warrior.

Pestilence turned to him just as Dean moved to close the connection.

_ Ah! You found the angel! _

Shit.

Dean slammed the connection closed, flinching as he felt the bonds to nearly half of his remaining followers snap. Disorientated for a second, he began to lope in Cas’s direction.

Only to find Cas was gone.

A hand closed around the back of his neck, lifting him off the ground.

“I told you I would kill you if I ever saw you again, Dean.”

“Cas!” he gasped out.

The hand tightened. He began to struggle, kicking behind him at Cas’s body. One connected, and Cas winced, but he didn’t release him.

Dean tried to speak again. 

“Cas! You were wrong! I remember you.”

Cas threw him to the ground. Dean twisted around, lunging for Cas’s legs but the angel was too quick, leaping backwards an impossible distance.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. Look, ask me anything.”

“Where did we meet?”

“Depending on who’s asking, either Hell, some old barn, or while I was puppeting some chick named Lily.”

Cas didn’t answer.

“Look. I know you don’t really want to kill me. You like me too much.”

“You assume a lot—”

“I know we kissed, right before everything went wrong. Before I got bit.”

Cas was silent, though he appeared to be listening intently. Dean stood slowly, shifting in his direction.

“I know the kiss was a long time coming, just like I know we end up doing this same staring thing almost every damn time we get close to each other. As if nothing else matters.” 

He was nearly within touching distance now, and Cas seemed to realise it, though he held his ground, even when Dean moved into his personal space. Cas’s grace seemed to ripple in response, reaching towards him before Cas curbed the impulse. 

“We had just gotten in from a hunt. We had been working it together because we thought it sounded biblical, but turned out it was just a ghost. I nearly died, but wasn’t really hurt. Shook you up pretty bad. We got into the motel late, once we finished wrapping everything up.”

“I can still see the corruption in you, Dean.”

“Didn’t stop you when I was in Hell, did it?” 

“No,” Cas breathed, leaning forwards. His eyes were wide, bright with hope. “No, it did not.”

“Cas,” Dean reached up, tracing his fingers along Cas’s cheekbone, his thumb coming to rest on the bolt of his jaw. Cas’s breathing grew audibly heavier, though his arms remained by his sides. “I remember you, Cas. I remember when you pushed me against the door, demanding that I never risk my life like that again. I remember gripping your hair, dragging you closer so I could yell in your face that I knew what I was doing.” Dean paused, tilting his head to one side. “We never were that good at acting on the attraction between us, were we?” 

“We had our reasons,” Cas murmured. Dean could feel his breath on his lips.

“I can’t quite remember who moved first, you or me. But all of a sudden we were making out, you pressing me into the door while I tried to drag you even closer.”

“Like this?” Cas’s lips were suddenly moving against his, and Dean gasped in surprise. Cas leaned back, licking his lips as if to savour the taste. As Dean watched, a flame of grace burned out what little of the virus had been transferred. 

“No, you’re right,” Cas mused before Dean could think of an answer. “It was more like this.”

Dean felt his back slam against a tree, but that didn’t really matter because Cas was pressed all up against his front, licking into his mouth like he’d die if he didn’t get a taste of Dean’s tongue. Dean groaned, snagging one hand in Cas’s hair while the other gripped his ass. 

Cas ground against him, and Dean groaned again, bucking up into the pressure. Yanking at Cas’s hair made him arch his neck with a hiss, and then Dean was biting all along Cas’s jawbone. Cas grunted, shivering, but as Dean tried to take more control Cas pressed him against the tree again, kissing him senseless once more. 

Dean was more than alright with the situation. 

Although, he really thought he’d have been in more control during their first proper kiss in five years. The whole attempted infection thing obviously didn’t count.

Once he was pretty sure Cas was distracted, moaning against his mouth, Dean attempted to grasp control again. Attempted being the key word, because really the whole kissing thing had him lightheaded in a way he hadn’t been in years. All he knew was he made another play to flip them so Cas was against the tree, but he ended up on the ground with Cas straddling his hips. 

“What happened next?” Cas murmured against his lips, trailing kisses down one side of his neck. He paused, focusing on one particularly sensitive spot to suck and nibble, and Dean groaned again, arching up into him. It took another minute for him to even work out Cas’s question.

“Uh, what h-happened—oh fuck yes—we, uh ended up on the bed—fuck—”

“I believe the fucking came later.”

“Right, yeah. And I still thought you’d be like some t-terrified virgin, or something—”

“Dean,” Cas moaned, dragging his shirt out of the way to mouth at his collarbone. Somehow, both of Cas’s hands had found bare skin, one was tweaking at his nipple, while the other moved south—

“Fuck, Cas. You were one of the most pleasant surprises of my life.”

Cas’s grace rippled against him, dragging over his skin until his whole body felt like it was sparking alight. He gripped Cas’s hips, grinding up into him.

“What the Hell are we doing?” Cas groaned out against the skin of his neck. One hand was pressing against the bare flesh of Dean’s cock.

“Beats me. Keep going,” Dean murmured, bucking into Cas’s hand. Dean’s hands were still on Cas’s hips. Why were they still on his hips? There was so much of Cas to touch, so much skin beneath his jackets and flannel.

Cas shuddered above him as Dean ran his nails across Cas’s back. Dean could feel Cas grin into the flesh of his neck, and suddenly Cas’s hand was moving, and  _ holy hell _ —

“Where the fuck did you find lube?”

Cas pushed himself up just enough to meet Dean’s gaze, and—oh, his grace was so beautiful, blue maelstroms barely contained behind his eyes. He was the brightest Dean had ever seen him, a quasar of living energy, reflected back from a dozen different angles within Dean’s head.

Christ, he was so close already and Cas was still fully clothed.

He needed to touch. He needed to strip Cas bare, pin him down and find every single spot that made Cas groan. have him writhing, begging to come, all that divine magnificence quivering for Dean’s touch—

Cas sat up with a growl, and Dean whined at the loss, especially as Cas’s wings sent several of his drones falling to the ground. 

“I am  _ not _ letting any of them touch me,” Cas gritted out.

“They’re my hands,” Dean grumbled with a glare.  

“Nope. It’s this body—” Cas prodded him harshly in the chest “—and only this body, or I’m tapping out.”

“Cas—”

“Dean.” 

Dean narrowed his eyes, staring up to where the fallen angel was straddling his thighs, wings stretching from his shoulders in radiant arcs. Cas wouldn’t really just up and leave him hanging, would he? 

Cas quirked one eyebrow, as if to hurry Dean’s response. Dean’s glare grew more venomous. 

“Fine. No drones.”

Cas’s grin was instantaneous. He shifted closer, leaning forwards to kiss Dean.

“No need to pout. Just think of it as an exercise in restraint,” Cas murmured against his lips, and his voice was doing all the right things to Dean’s insides, even if he was being frustratingly prissy.

Dean bit his lip, suppressing a moan, though it turned out to be a rather pointless exercise when all the drones nearby let out desperate noises. Cas gave him an odd look. Dean could only shrug. 

“I knew you liked being told what to do,” Cas murmured, and he was beginning to move his hand on Dean’s cock again,  _ fuck _ , his hand was perfect—

“Yeah, well, you like taking a cock up the ass,” Dean grunted. He fumbled at the buckle for Cas’s jeans, and actually managed to get them open this time. Cas hummed deep in his throat, letting out a groan as Dean freed his cock.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Cas purred, shifting forwards until he could take them both in his slick hand. His mouth found Dean’s, and they were making out again. Dean bucked into Cas’s grip, and Cas didn’t seem all that composed anymore. 

“You wanna ride me, don’t you, Cas? Like before.”

“Dean—” he broke off, burying his face in Dean’s neck, his hand moving faster and faster.

“Yeah, you like that. You want me inside you, so deep you feel it for days.” Cas whined, and his thrusts grew more erratic.

Everything was heat, and slick, and Dean’s head was going a little funny trying to hold back from touching. He could see Cas! See his grace writhing against Dean’s soul-light, his wings shuddering above him as he got close—

Dean moaned, fingers digging into Cas’s hips. Cas gasped, and he was coming hot across Dean’s stomach, and that’s it, Dean was a goner—

He came with a grunt, holding Cas tight against him. Cas, languid with his own orgasm, seemed perfectly happy with the position.

They were both breathing heavily as the feeling faded, and Dean blinked up at the yellowing sky. He swallowed, one hand moving to cup the back of Cas’s neck. 

Cas sighed, pulling back until they could see each other properly. His grace was still sparking, burning off the last fringes of the infection. 

“Well. That was certainly unexpected.”


	7. Gabriel's sanctuary

“We need to get moving. Pestilence was in my head right up until I recognised you. He’ll be on his way already.”

“Pestilence? What the Hell does he want with me?”

Dean blinked, glancing over to him in confusion. “That’s right, you were unconscious for most of that.” 

“Most of what?”

“Pestilence wants to use you as some sort of petri dish, somewhere to craft his latest version of the croatoan virus: angel edition. He thinks it’s the best way of taking down Lucifer.”

Cas grimaced.

“That does sound unpleasant.” Cas seemed to become contemplative. “Although, it may be the only way to defeat—”

Dean snarled, tackling Cas back onto the group. Around the edges of the clearing, what few of his drones that were close by began to hiss with Dean’s displeasure. 

“No! You’re mine!”

“Dean, I was only saying—”

“No! You’re my angel! I get to keep you! Pestilence doesn’t get to touch you or experiment on you! Never! You’re mine!”

Cas scowled, and Dean suddenly found himself flying through the air until his back found a tree. Cas was standing above him as he sprawled across the ground.

“While I appreciate the protective sentiment, I would prefer it without the possessiveness. I am not your possession, Dean.”

Dean bared his teeth. “You chose me. You chose me over Heaven. That makes you mine.”

“I chose freedom. You might have been instrumental to that choice, and I love you for that and so many other reasons, even now. None of that means that you own me.” 

"Bull. Shit. I own you. You're fucking obsessed with me! Even murdering your friends didn't turn you off! All I had to do was spout a few lines about the first time we had sex, and I had you writhing against me!" 

"People don't own other people, Dean, no matter their actions or motivations or emotions. As for your sadism, that's the disease. It isn't you, and when I cure you you'll understand." 

"Cure me! Hah! You said yourself that you don't have the power or know-how to do that!" 

"You're getting your old memories back, isn't that proof enough that a cure is possible?" 

“What? You think a few flashbacks and a good lay was enough to bring Other Dean back?”

Cas’s eyes narrowed. “You think a few growls and harsh words is enough to make me stop trying?”

“Gotta say, you’re sending some real mixed signals, babe. First you threaten to kill me, now you want to cure me again?”

Cas was silent.

“I apologise for the threat, but you are rather infuriating.

Dean grinned. “So…you gonna let me down? Or do you want to try some grace bondage because I have ideas—”

Dean fell to the ground, but he looked up quick enough to catch the edge of Cas’s smirk.

Dean’s grin turned smug. Cas was so into him.

* * *

 

“You said earlier that Pestilence was in your head.”

Dean nodded, grinning at him. Ever since the man had found him, he had been behaving like some demonic puppy, all playful energy. It was actually sort of endearing.

Walking along besides them, hidden in the trees, were Dean’s drones. Cas caught sight of one every now and then. It was interesting how comfortable he felt in their midst. He really did trust Dean not to attack, didn’t he.

“Yeah, he was buzzing about. I shut him out, though.”

“I think I noticed that happening, actually. As I was sneaking up on you. Your soul-light was all heavy and choked up with someone else’s signature. I thought you might have been taken as a drone yourself.”

“Pestilence wishes,” Dean muttered. 

“How’d he end up capturing you?”

“Ha! He couldn’t if he tried! I went to him, the fucker.”

“What? Why?”

“Best way to track Lucifer, as I figure it. Pestilence wants him dead, I want him dead, it all works out.”

“It seems our goals coincide again. I was searching for Lucifer too.”

“Why?”

Cas shrugged, glancing over to Dean. “To save what’s left of Earth? To save your brother? I’m not sure exactly. It just seems like the right thing to do.”

“Had any luck?” 

“Not much, to be honest. I caught a few demons, but none of them were particularly chatty when it came to Lucifer’s location. I’ve just been wandering.” 

Dean was smirking now. Cas raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I know where he is.” 

“Great. How do we kill him?” 

Dean’s smirk fell.  

"You haven't thought of anything, have you?" 

"Shut up. Like you have any idea how to off him," Dean grumbled. 

"I do." 

Dean stumbled, swearing as he caught his balance. He glared as Cas quirked one eyebrow in amusement.

"Well? What’s your plan, then?" Dean demanded.

"Do you know why I chose to walk this way?" 

"I thought you were just wandering." 

"I could have walked in any direction at all, but I've been drawn here, nearly from the moment I woke up back then." 

"Okay. I'll bite. Why are you walking in this direction?" 

Castiel was silent for a moment, apparently in thought.  

"You remember Abaddon. Fighting against her, I think my powers were at the strongest they had been for years. My grace rose up within me, burning up all at once to make me strong enough to fight against her. That's why it took so long for me to recover, once you infected me. I was essentially fluctuating between near human and fallen angel, and my immunity to the virus fluctuated with it." 

"Okay. So what?" 

"I'm getting to that." 

"Get there faster." 

"Impatient," Cas huffed. "After our disagreement, I began to walk. Took a couple days before I even realised that I wasn't just walking randomly. I—it’s a little difficult to explain—I can sense something, some source of energy in the distance. And I can feel myself growing stronger as I get closer." 

Dean blinked. "You're gonna go full angel?" 

"I don't think I could ever go ‘full angel’ until they reopen Heaven. But there is definitely something powerful over there. Strong enough to power me up." 

"And you reckon we can strong-arm them into helping out with Lucifer." 

"Something like that." 

Dean opened his mouth—

“Wow. They don’t get much more star-crossed than you two, do they?”

Dean flinched, spinning in the direction of the voice. How the fuck had someone snuck past his drones—

There was no one there. 

Uneasy, Dean moved his drones to converge on his location, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

“Dean…” He turned as Cas called his name, following the line of his sight up and into the trees.

“Hey, there, Deano!”

“Gabriel,” Dean growled. At least, he assumed it was Gabriel. It spoke just like Gabriel, looked just like his vessel. But Dean had soul vision now, so surely an archangel would be making him all kinds of blind right now. Was he an illusion? There wasn’t anything remotely like a soul-light overprinted on his vessel.

It made his skin crawl.

“Well, aren’t you looking demonic lately,” Gabriel grinned.

“Come down here! I’ll rip you to pieces!” Out of sight, his drones searched frantically to pick out the real Gabriel, wherever he was. 

“Really?” Gabriel scoffed. “I’m an archangel, remember? I could end you like that.”

The illusion snapped his fingers, and Dean felt a few dozen of his drones collapse, dead. He leapt forwards towards the tree Gabriel perched in, only to find himself suspended in mid-air.

“You know, if you’d said yes all those years ago, we could have avoided all of this. Now look at you.”

Dean spat at him. Gabriel just shook his head in mock-pity.

“A shame. Well, all’s well that ends well. I can probably get what’s left of your soul into Heaven, so there’s that. Goodbye, Deano.”

“Gabriel! Please. Don’t kill him!” Cas called out.

Gabriel paused, frowning down at the fallen angel. Dean, for his part, was just rather smug. Deny it all he wanted, Cas really was obsessed with him.

“Cassie? You want this meatbag for something, or what?”

“I swore I would cure him of the virus. Please. Please, do not kill him.”

“You heard him, Gabe,” Dean drawled. “Let me down. He wants to cure me.”

Gabriel didn’t look particularly impressed, and a moment later, Dean found he was unable to speak.

“I can find you a better boyfriend, Cassie. One that’s a little less…murder-y,”

“His crimes are on my conscience. The least I owe him is his humanity back. Please, Gabriel.”

“Fine! No need to nag, little brother.”

Dean didn’t hear anything further. Dean’s sight went dark.

* * *

 

Gabriel snapped his fingers, and suddenly they were somewhere new entirely. Not too far off, Cas thought, but at least a couple tens of kilometres away. 

He forced himself to relax, watching Gabriel with caution. The last time he’d encountered the archangel, Cas had been thrown around for several days while Dean travelled through some bizarre TV land of Gabriel’s construction, before they had both been dumped in a warehouse on the outskirts of Chicago. It hadn’t exactly been pleasant.

“Where’s Dean?”

“Don’t worry, I got him locked up nice and safe. Come on, walk with me.” Gabriel set a brisk pace, following a derelict road. Cas scowled at his back, but moved to follow him anyway. Gabriel grinned, and began to talk about…something. It wasn’t anything particularly important, random small talk and comments on the local landscape, of all things. Gabriel didn’t appear particularly offended that he didn’t reply or engage in conversation, apparently happy to hear himself talk. Truthfully, Cas was finding it a little hard to concentrate on what exactly he said, worry for Dean growing stronger the longer they kept walking. After nearly ten minutes, all the while listening to Gabriel’s babbling, they reached the edge of a small settlement. A village, he thought. Or perhaps a modified camping ground. 

There were people noises echoing towards them. Laughter, indistinct chatter. 

Cas swallowed, following Gabriel down the main road. “What is this place?”

“Like it, do you?”

Castiel did. The world here, it was almost like it was before. The buildings were well-kept, there was the smell of fresh bread on the air.

And children running around laughing.

Dozens of them. Maybe even hundreds. 

It was like a paradise.

Only when you looked closer did you notice things weren’t quite right. There were no children younger than five visible anywhere, and no one over the age of fifteen. The TVs in the shop windows were playing the same cartoons on repeat. 

“What is this place? Where are they all from?”

Gabriel smirked, but the expression didn’t seem to reach his eyes. He began to walk in the direction of a nearby park, gesturing for Cas to follow him. Eventually the archangel settled at one of the benches overlooking the playground.

Cas blinked, swallowing around the lump in his throat as he sat beside him. The playground reminded him of another he’d visited years ago, when he had first confessed feeling doubt in Heaven. 

So much had changed since that day, and most of it for the worse. He had to wonder if even then, this course of history had already been set in stone. Perhaps in some other universe, some other Castiel and Dean had successfully averted the spread of the croatoan virus, or found a way to defeat Lucifer. 

“They were going to die, Castiel. All of them.”

“Orphans.”

“Children.” Gabriel glanced to him, looking more serious than Castiel could ever remember him being. “They were crying and screaming in the streets, abandoned by their parents or left for dead. Our brothers—” Gabriel spat “—abandoned them all! Billions of humans, screaming out for salvation, and they ignored them! Dismissed them! I had to do something.”

He swallowed, looking to his hands. 

“I saved who I could. Limited it to just the children, anyone too young to survive on their own. These kids, they’d have no chance out there. They’d starve, or else get killed. I had to help them.”

“You’ve done a good thing.”

“Tell that to Michael!” Gabriel snorted. “You know what the really fucked-up thing is? During the crisis, we could hear them praying. All the humans, praying to Michael or Gabriel or all of the angels, anyone with their name in a book, asking for salvation. And then their voices began to drop away, until there was nothing but silence. Heaven heard their prayers. They just didn’t care.”

Castiel frowned, his eyes finding the playground again. The children were still playing, some of the older ones standing nearby and watching protectively.

“How do you run the place? Even with your world-building powers, surely this is too many minds to entertain.”

“Well, I have a couple angels. Rebels, who chose to assist the humans and got stranded down here when Michael closed the gates. They mostly guard the borders, or help me keep the place running. There are one or two pagan gods, whomever I could trust wouldn’t try to eat my children. My  Zână do most of the babysitting, of course.”

“ Zână?” 

“Child-friendly guardian spirits. They act like companions to any child that needs it, until whenever they don’t. My best invention, in all honesty.”

“Odd. I thought I had regained all my memories of Before and my years as an angel, but I cannot remember ever hearing of such a creature.”

Gabriel’s smirk grew wider.

“That’ll be because I made them in secret.” Reaching over, Gabriel tapped him on the nose, making a quiet booping noise as he did. Immediately, Cas noticed they weren’t alone in the playground. Dozens of adults, each…interestingly dressed, were scattered around. It seemed like every single child had their own personal minder. Some even had fantastical appendages—rainbow horns, bird wings, the hooves of a goat.

“You like ’em?”

“Zână, you said?” 

“Sometimes they call them imaginary friends. Really, they’re souls of the dead, recruited to help guard children from the horrors of the world. It’s a little operation I’ve been running since Mesopotamian times. Only ones in the know are me, Death, Dad and my little band of rebels. And you now, I guess.”

“I see.”

Castiel waited a moment.

“Where’s Dean?”

Gabriel glanced to him with a smirk. “You really have a one-track mind, brother. Is he honestly that great a lay?”

“Gabriel!” Cas could feel his cheeks flushing, and he was astounded to notice he was actually embarrassed. He hadn’t been embarrassed in years. 

“Hey, no judgement here. Blood and smoke and sulphur—it gets pretty sexy. You should really meet my girlfriend—”

“Please. Just tell me where Dean is.”

“Earnest, innocent little Castiel, turned on by the big bad croatoan—”

“I’m hardly innocent, Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s eyes seemed to light up, his wings fluttering in excitement. “Oh? Do tell! Maybe I could arrange a little show later—”

“No.”

“Please? Pretty please? Come on, tell me!”

“No.”

“I’ll show you where Dean is…”

“You went to the trouble of catching him, when killing him would be far easier. You’re going to show me anyway.”

“Yeah, but I’ll make you wait longer before I do.”

Castiel scowled, but Gabriel only wiggled his eyebrows, holding the stare. The minutes began to stretch.

Cas sighed. “Fine. I used to run orgies.”

Gabriel looked absolutely delighted.

"So where did you say Dean was?" 

“Oh come on! No details?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“Gabriel, it’s just sex. Let it go.”

“Fine, but you will be sharing later.” Gabriel sighed. “Right. I’ll check if Dean is ready for visitors yet.”

* * *

 

Dean knew something was wrong from the moment he’d woken.

He could barely sense his drones, and Pestilence was the quietest he had ever been.

And then there was the fact that he was in a comfortable looking roadhouse with a full spread of beers and diner food, like a better version of Zachariah’s angelic ready room.

He did try a couple of the beers. Disappointingly, they didn’t really do much for his croatoan taste buds, and he found himself craving a nice, bloody human to sink his teeth into, and slowly slice apart. Or Cas. It would have been cool to have Cas in here too. He seemed to be over his no sex thing, they could have had a lot of fun. Idly, he wondered what sounds Cas made when he was getting rimmed.

“Okay, I did not need that mental image.”

Dean spun around, unsurprised to see Gabriel.

“What have you done with Cas?”

“Interesting first question!”

“Answer me! Or I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth!”

Gabriel gave him an unimpressed stare. With a snap of his fingers, suddenly Dean was tripping over the edge of a deep chasm. He swore, struggling to catch a handhold before he fell any further. Thankfully, it was only a few feet before his hand found a thorn bush growing out of a crack in the cliff. The thorns tore into his skin, but it held.

“You really think you’re in a position to be making threats, Deano?” Gabriel’s voice was coming from directly behind him. Glancing over one shoulder, he saw the archangel sprawled across…was that a divan with wings?

“What the hell is this place? Where am I?”

“Just my sandbox. Why, don’t you like it?”

“Fuck off!”

“Well, that isn’t very polite.”

The thorn bush ripped free of the cliff, and Dean was freefalling. Twisting through the air, he tried to gain control over his fall, shaping his hands to catch at the air, but nothing was working. His foot caught against the cliff, and Dean screamed out, watery eyes barely able to make out the bloody mess of flesh and bone that made up his foot. The impact had sent Dean spinning out into the centre of the chasm, and now there was nothing nearby, nothing within reach, and the ground zooming closer, closer, alongside the terrifying thought that apparently he could fully feel pain again—

Dean gasped as he landed on the bed, immediately twisting to survey the room. Gabriel was there, still slouched in the same divan, though apparently now they were in some high-end hotel. Dean swallowed, trying to calm his pounding heart. His foot was completely uninjured again.

“What the fuck was that for?”

Gabriel lifted one eyebrow. “Do you need a reason?”

“You sadistic fuck—”

“Oh, come on. You weren’t in any real danger, were you? And besides, weren’t you wishing for a torture victim a few minutes ago?”

“Where’s Cas? What have you done with him?”

“What makes you think I’ve done anything with him?”

“You trapped Sam in some groundhog day bullshit watching me die over and over again.”

“Yes, but I had a good reason. Sam had to get it through his head that you couldn’t be saved, and — oh look! I was right!”

“Like fuck you were!”

Gabriel snapped his fingers.

Dean’s hands were bound to some post behind his back, with kindling built up around his feet. Dozens — hundreds — of people were milling about, all staring at him where he was bound. The ones closest had actual flaming torches in their hands. As Dean watched, he picked out a familiar pair of faces wearing grim expressions.

“Jo? Ellen? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Don’t you remember, Deano?” Gabriel’s voice murmured by his ear. “Don’t you recognise them all?”

His eyes flickered over the faces, and yeah, he thought he knew the link between them.

“Humans I killed. So what’s your point?”

Ellen glared, and threw her torch on the kindling by his feet. All around, anyone else with a torch threw them down too. The fire began to catch, and the heat grew quickly, with Dean bound at the centre of it all.

“Not falling for this again. If you were gonna kill me, you would have already. How’d you even dredge up this many faces anyway?”

“Dredge up? They’re from your head. You’re the one who committed them all to memory in a folder named ‘Guilt’.”

The fire was growing, licking at his legs and body, searing his flesh. The acrid scent of burnt flesh made his nose sting. Dean ignored it, searching the crowd for Gabriel.

“I don’t feel guilt, idiot. I’m a fucking croatoan. Pestilence thought it would be counterproductive to include in the programming.”

“You think I’d even bother with this particular scenario if you didn’t?”

Dean swallowed, eying the crowd uneasily. Lily. Lucas. Jo. Ellen. Sarah. There were faces from Cas’s survivor camp. From the camp he’d destroyed before theirs. Nameless ones he’d bled out for fun. Croatoans he’d created. Souls he’d consumed as part of his nest.

“You finished here?” Dean called out, choking as the smoke got into his throat.

“You ready to talk like reasonable adults?”

“Sure. Fuck. Why not?”

The smoke disappeared, and suddenly they were back in the roadhouse.

Dean swallowed, settling down on one of the bar stools. Gabriel was watching him with shrewd eyes, a satisfied twist at the corner of his mouth.

“What do you even want, anyway?”

Gabriel winked before disappearing. Dean flinched, but his surroundings didn’t shift into anything new. After what felt like five minutes, he stood, and calmly smashed everything he could lift from the floor to smithereens. It didn’t really make him feel any better.

* * *

 

Cas scrambled to his feet the moment Gabriel reappeared.

“Dean? He’s well?”

“Calm down, I didn’t murder him. He currently sees it as a comfortable roadhouse with a free supply of booze. And no front door, of course. Can’t have him mingling with my locals just yet.”

“Can you heal him?”

“No—” Cas felt his heart drop “—but I might be able to help  _ you  _ heal him. You actually got pretty close all on your lonesome.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. Haven’t you examined him lately? The virus’s grip on his soul is weaker than I’ve seen on any victim. Like, ever. And he actually remembers you, too. I’m not sure you understand just how big a deal that is.”

"It isn't unheard of for amnesia victims to recover some memories when they spend time around people who were important figures in their lives before." 

“Cassie, this isn't some garden variety head trauma. No one recovers from it. The amnesia it causes? That is literally the virus corroding the soul.”

Castiel felt his face blanch. The idea of Dean being destroyed—not simply his body, but all that he was, crumbled and split apart until there was nothing—it was nearly enough to make him throw up.

Gabriel was watching him, eyes bright and shrewd. 

“It was four years before I found him again.” Cas was pleased to note his voice was steady, despite his lurching insides. “How did he—”

“How did he resist for so long? No idea. Most victims I’ve met succumb completely within a couple hours, weeks at the most. It’s a pretty good sign, at least, that he wanted to fight.”

Cas nodded.

He had an inkling of an idea, something just on the edge of his thoughts, speculation on how Dean had survived. Willpower alone wouldn’t be enough. There were billions of humans infected. If willpower was enough to resist the infection, surely one or two of them would have.

“Dean tried to infect me a few months ago. I was injured battling one of the Knights of Hell.”

“Well, that obviously went nowhere.”

“I was weak enough that the virus interfered with my healing ability, but eventually I was able to build up an immunity, of sorts. My grace burns out any touch of the virus before it can establish itself within my vessel.”

“Yeah, that is one advantage of grace. Doesn’t really explain anything about our boy Deano, though.”

“I think I might know.” Cas swallowed, turning to fully face Gabriel. “I think I left a remnant of grace within Dean’s soul.”

“Wow. I knew you guys were close, but not marriage close—”

“It wasn’t like that. When I first found Dean, in Hell, I sutured his soul back into a coherent whole while attempting to scrub away the taint of Hell-smoke. It should have been temporary…”

“You mean you were guiding that boy around for over a year, and you didn’t notice you’d left a little something extra? Oh, Cassie! If he’d been in possession of a womb, that stunt could have made him pregnant!”

“I am aware.”

“You could have sired a Nephilim, and you didn’t even notice?”

“It was a gross negligence of duty.”

“Well, then you should be glad to know that I noticed your little ‘indiscretion’ and cleansed it.”

“What?”

“Yeah, back when I trapped you both in TV land. Couldn’t have let Michael catch his vessel with someone else’s grace all over it. He’d go apoplectic. Well. More than usual. Nice theory, though.”

Cas gave him a half-hearted glare at his attempted levity. Gabriel merely shrugged, sucking on a lollipop. 

Cas wasn’t entirely sure why, but he found himself growing irritated at Gabriel. Actually, no, he could exactly place what he found irritating. Whether he’d noticed his ‘indiscretion’ or not, Gabriel had no right to just — interfere without permission! Grace-sharing was a private matter between him and Dean. Gabriel should have informed him of the matter, and allowed him to cleanse Dean of any extraneous grace. 

“Dean and I also began a sexual relationship shortly after.”

Perhaps his voice was a little sharp as he spoke, but it was rather gratifying to see Gabriel’s startled reaction.

“Ah. Yeah, that would do it.”

“You seem surprised.”

“Well, there’s jokes about my delightfully virginal little brother falling for a human, and there’s learning that said human actually went and deflowered him. Probably with grace spilling all over the place. You know there is a reason we don’t have sex with humans.”

“I did mention I used to ran orgies earlier, correct?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t rebel from Heaven for any of them. That kind of love and devotion, focused on one little human, and then you go and have sex with him? Fuck, he was probably glowing with grace by the end of it.”

Cas nodded, feeling his cheeks flush a little.

“And they say a good lay can’t be life-changing,” Gabriel muttered. “You ready? He was requesting to see you.”

Cas nodded, and a second later they were both within some old bar he recognised as belonging to the Harvelles before it burnt down. The place was completely smashed up, with not a single piece of furniture or glassware left whole. At the centre of it stood Dean, who spun quickly to face them.

“Cas!”

“Dean!” Cas made to step around Gabriel, but the archangel stopped him with an arm. Cas frowned, but stepped back. Dean didn’t appear to take the gesture well, his face drawn into a glare, but he didn’t make any move to step closer.

“So, Dean. How would you like to join the land of the living, average human again?”

* * *

 

Dean eyed Gabriel cautiously. Something wasn’t right. Gabriel was far too cheerful. And Cas actually looked pretty hopeful, his eyes all big and earnest. It made his hackles rise.

“What, you think you have a better shot than Cas?”

“Cas came damn close, actually. You already register his grace as a friendly presence. All he needs is a little power boost, and you’ll be there! That’s where I come in.”

Dean stumbled back, glaring at them both. “No. No way. You are not changing me back.”

“Dean, I promised I would cure you,” Cas smiled.

“Why the fuck would I even want to?”

“Dean—”

“No! I actually like the disease!”

“You knew I wanted to cure you, why back away once I actually have a solution?”

“Cas, baby, there is a world of difference between watching you play out your obsession hopelessly trying to cure me, and actually having a way to do it! This isn’t what I signed up for!”

“While I hate to interrupt,” Gabriel interjected, “I should point out, Dean, that you don’t get a vote. We’ll either cure you, or kill you trying. So, see you on the other side!”

Dean’s last thought as he fell unconscious was a rather vicious string of swears cursing archangels.


	8. Dean is healed

Cas had been sitting here for God knows how long already. Gabriel was currently busy, so unable to help with the healing process.

Technically, Cas was meant to be resting. But it was difficult to fall to sleep when he couldn’t scrub Dean’s image from behind his eyes.

It had been days. Days of Dean unconscious, days of tracing his grace along Dean’s soul, desperately trying to encourage him to fight off the infection. So far, it seemed a hopeless waste of time.

The corruption still twisted through his body, crackling along Cas’s senses and hissing like hot coals meeting ice. Gabriel assured him it was progress. It didn’t feel like progress.

Then again, it hadn’t felt like progress back when Cas had been living in the centre of Dean’s nest. Yet progress had been made.

These things were gradual, he supposed. After all, it was two days before Cas had realised he no longer suffered from lack of sleep, undoubtedly a side effect of close proximity to Gabriel. He knew he was growing more powerful with every day spent in Gabriel’s sanctuary, enough now that he could almost feel the limbs of his wings again.

Cas rolled one shoulder, shifting the ephemeral limbs before resettling. Dean still hadn’t moved.

Sometimes, he could nearly see the echo of Dean beneath all the ash and muck. A glistening shimmer that caught the light like pyrite in a streambed, golden and solid. He had to restrain himself at those times, hold his grace back from enveloping the man and seeking out all that glittered, and burning off the rest. The shock alone would surely kill Dean, and that was something he would not risk at this juncture.

Movement at the door caught his attention, though his eyes didn’t drift from Dean.

“Don’t you have something better to do than mope?” Gabriel asked.

“No,” Cas replied. “Ensuring Dean’s wellbeing is quite literally the entirety of my responsibilities.”

“It’s not like staring at him helps any,” Gabriel grumbled, settling to slouch in a chair that hadn’t existed only seconds ago. “Are you sure you don’t want to, you know, socialise? Samandriel was asking after you.”

“We were never that close.”

“On your side, maybe. The kid idolises you, even before you proved you had ‘ _ too much heart’ _ and decided to rebel for the sake of a human.”

“Samandriel has existed since before the evolution of fish possessing spines, he is hardly what anyone could term a child.”

“You’re all kids to me, Cassie. You think you know it all after a few billion years? Try living through the beginning of the universe.”

Cas turned to him with a scowl, but the corner of his mouth wanted to twitch into a grin. Heaven above, but he’d missed this. How long had it been since he’d existed near any of his family without bloodshed? Since he’d reminisced on the entirety of prehistory? It was a perspective most humans were ill-equipped to assume, and even the most creative of imaginations was nothing like living through it all. No human could truly comprehend the joy of watching a star begin to burn, or the labour of love it was to create one from drifting clouds of gases and ice.

His smile faded as he turned back to Dean. Humans had a very different perspective of the world. Understandable, really. They were limited by their biology, and the faulty processing of their little chemical brains. And for all that, they were so much brighter, so much better than anything he had ever witnessed.

Staying in close proximity to Gabriel, he could feel his grasp on his humanity slipping. The gaping wound where his grace should be was healing over, shifting into something just a little less than divine, but still so much more than mortal. Cas wasn’t sure whether to celebrate it, or mourn the loss of his need to eat.

Gabriel sighed. “Let’s get to work, then.”

Cas nodded, stretching his grace towards Dean and Gabriel both.

It worked like this: Cas would focus his grace on a specific area of Dean’s soul, and attempt to polish the croatoan virus away from it, while encouraging his soul to heal over; Gabriel, from nearby, would provide the power source, his energy pouring through Cas like a conduit for electrostatic charge. It seemed to work in small areas. Each time they tried, it took less and less energy to push away the corruption and draw forth Dean’s soul, almost as if his soul was building an immunity.

He supposed they had made progress if he looked at it from that perspective.

After maybe an hour, together they had pushed back the corruption so far that only the two cores of the virus remained, enveloping Dean’s heart and brain. Cas tried very hard to contain his own excitement at seeing them so close; it wouldn’t do to lose focus now, of all times.

He prodded at the darkness, a twisted bramble of a vine, and carefully tried to peel it away.

Dean screamed, his back arching in a horrible curve, before he fell back against the bed.

Cas was frozen, watching in horror as the virus writhed, slicing new wounds into Dean’s being.

Luckily, Gabriel was not similarly frozen. With a quick gesture, he stretched time, and suddenly it appeared as if the world around them was frozen instead of Cas. Dean’s face was locked in a rictus of agony. The vicious brambles that made up the croatoan virus seemed poised to rip Dean into pieces, new shoots piercing his ethereal body in multiple places.

“Cassie. Hey, breathe, Castiel.” Gabriel’s hand was on his shoulder. Shuddering, he tried to obey.

“We need to fix this.” His voice came out surprisingly steady. Gabriel nodded, his eyes serious.

“We need to work out how to do that rather quickly. I can only hold things like this for a little while. The moment I release it, Dean’s a goner.”

Cas swallowed.

“First things first,” Gabriel began. “What exactly happened? It seemed like you were pretty close there.”

“I—I think it was — you are aware Dean was at the centre of a whole nexus of croatoans? He shared a mental connection with all of them, and could command them to do his will. The only being ranked higher than him was—”

“Pestilence,” Gabriel muttered. “Alright, I think I got it. We try to break off the last link between your Deano and the Horseman of snotty noses, and he threatens to destroy the soul right in front of us.”

Cas nodded. “Something like that. Dean said Pestilence wanted to use him as bait to lure me out, to use me as a new petri dish in his war against Lucifer.”

“Ouch,” Gabriel hissed. “Alright.” He glanced back to Dean, and his eyes narrowed. “Well, I think you’re mostly right. Look at this.”

Cas followed his gesture to where Dean was joined with the core of the virus. He blinked. “Dean’s soul is grasping at the virus.”

“Yep. Well, I suppose it’s no surprise. He did tell you he didn’t wanna be cured.”

“Dean doesn’t know what he wants.”

It really did look like he didn’t want to let the thread go.

Gabriel spoke after another moment.

“Okay. New theory. You said Dean was the centre of a hive-mind. With the virus near cured, there’s no way he can keep that sort of bond up. He’s grasping at whatever is left of it.”

“What are you saying?”

“He’s used to sharing his mind with 500 other pesky croatoans, and now that his mindscape is almost down to a lonely single occupancy, he’s going mad trying to access his 2000 assorted other limbs and eyeballs. His mind is beginning to collapse in on itself under the stress. He needs the support of another mind, and the only one left is Pestilence.”

“We can’t let that happen!”

“I’m not saying we should!”

In the time they had been talking, Gabriel’s hold on the moment had begun to slip. Time began to trickle forwards, and Dean was shifting on the bed, moving closer and closer to either slavery or death.

“Link my mind to his,” Cas demanded, eyes trailing across Dean’s prone form.

“What?”

“It’ll help, right? I can support his mind from the inside.”

“I guess it could. You really want that, Cassie?”

“I want Dean alive.”

“If you’re sure.” Gabriel clapped once, rubbing his hands together as bright energy seemed to build between them. “Fair warning. This will be painful. For both you and him. Also, it probably won’t work. Are you sure we can’t just kill the guy and be done with it? I know you like him and all, but I can probably find you a better boyfriend, if that’s what you really want, Cassie. One that isn’t quite so homicidal, maybe. No? Okay.”

When it happened, it happened quickly. Gabriel had been tracing symbols in the air, strengthening the contact between Cas’s grace and Dean’s soul as much as he could without allowing time to flow normally.

And then it all became noise. Dean’s screams echoed, and it took a moment to realise it was his own throat being scratched raw as he cried out in harmony. Dean was awake, Cas could feel it flickering against the edge of his thoughts, Dean’s thoughts _ , Cas, Cas, where is Cas, Pestilence is here, _ and Cas was growling, pushing forwards across the rudimentary link, following the smudge of grace still left against Dean’s soul, bright Dean, clever Dean, need to protect,  _ Pestilence couldn’t find them— _

Cas fell into darkness.

* * *

 

Dean awoke to a strange buzzing in his head. 

He groaned, and tried to shift further into his pillow. There were voices chatting nearby.

“Well, he isn’t croatoan anymore. That’s a plus.”

Croatoan. That was him, right? He was croatoan, except, it felt different now. There was no blood craving, and Pestilence’s whispers were gone, and he couldn’t sense any of his slaves — he couldn’t sense —

Oh god, he was alone, there was no other mind, there was no one else here —

“Dean?”

The buzzing grew louder, pressing against his thoughts. He flinched as a hand settled on the back of his head. His lungs were burning, breath coming too fast, and he reached out towards the presence in his head, drawing it closer. It almost seemed to radiate a sense of calm.

The hand brushed slowly through his hair, a gentle, repetitive motion. 

“Dean, it’s alright. Everything’s fine.”

That was Cas’s voice. Close by. Cas was here?

The room was too bright, but Dean squinted against it, turning to stare past his pillow. A dark shape blocked most of his vision of the room. Blinking as he grew used to the light, the shape resolved itself into the form of Castiel. Familiar blue eyes, messy dark hair and stubble, lips twisted into something nearly a smile. His soul light shimmered beneath his skin.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice was barely a croak, burning his throat. 

Cas grinned, and the thing in his head seemed to wiggle with pleasure. 

“I told you I’d cure you.”

“Is that why I feel like I got hit by a semi?”

Cas snorted, and the hand petting Dean’s hair fell still. Dean missed the sensation immediately. 

With a sigh, Dean began to shift and sit up. Cas caught his arms, helping to guide him upright and holding him steady as his head was sent spinning. Perhaps he’d tried to get up too quick, because this did not feel good. He suppressed the urge to throw up.

Movement drew his attention. Dean tensed as he recognised Gabriel.

“Easy there, Deano, I come in peace,” the archangel muttered as he stepped closer.

“Well, you’ll have to forgive me if that doesn’t fill me with warm trusting feelings. Every time we’ve met you tried to kill me.”

“And yet still you live. I must be losing my touch.”

“You’ll be losing something, alright — ”

“Dean! Gabriel!” Cas interjected. “Can you two stow your crap for five minutes? We’re all on the same side, here.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, sucking on a lollipop, but he stayed quiet. 

“Dean. Gabriel is the reason I was able to heal you. He volunteered his power to help me burn away the corruption on your soul.”

“Really? You weren’t kidding? You cured me?”

“Why would I lie? Besides, can’t you feel the difference?”

Dean frowned, turning his awareness inwards. He had noticed. Even now, even reaching for it, Dean couldn’t find anything other than that new presence in his head. No Pestilence. No croatoans. Just silence, and that odd presence...

Cas took the opportunity to start testing his reflexes, poking and prodding to check if Dean was in full health. He followed Cas’s instructions, still somewhat distracted by the silence in his head.

“Well, you seem to be completely fine, physically.”

“Physically  _ fine _ , you say? Ow.” Cas flicked his ear, trying to suppress a smile.

“Dweeb. You’re lucky I like you for more than your looks.”

“So you like my looks — ”

“You’re physically healthy, but I still need to check you are mentally sound.”

Dean’s grin faded. “Yeah. Okay. That’s using your grace, right?”

Cas shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be if that would leave you more comfortable.”

“Cassie, I have to interject here — ” Gabriel said. “There is no way I am letting him leave this room unless we’re certain he’s cured. I’m not gonna risk Pestilence peeking through his eyes.

“Gabriel, really — ”

“No, it’s alright,” Dean spoke up. “He’s right. It’s too big a risk. Better to be sure.”

Gabriel gave him an approving glance. 

“I can’t sense Pestilence, or any of the croatoans, if that’s any help,” Dean added.

“Any blood lust?” Cas asked.

“No more than usual,” Dean grinned. Cas only raised one eyebrow in disapproval. “Uh. About the same as before I became a croat.”

“Good. I’m going to scan your mind now, brace yourself.”

Dean did, watching as Cas’s grace arched out of his vessel, creeping towards Dean before pressing against his temples. It barely felt of anything, like luke-warm water drifting across his skin. But that wasn’t quite right, either, it was more like the scent of petrichor and ozone, the aftermath of a storm. It wasn’t really a scent though, more a sound like glass windchimes sparkling in sunlight. That wasn’t it either. 

Dean resigned himself to the fact that English wasn’t designed to describe the feeling of angelic grace tickling across his mind. It was a good feeling. That was enough.

Cas pulled back a few seconds later, his grace returning to coil beneath his skin.

“There is no corruption left. He’s human.”

Dean smiled, but he still felt a little uneasy. He didn’t feel human. Actually, the longer he thought about it, the less human he felt. He wasn’t tired, and he wasn’t hungry. The aches that had been there when he had awoken were long since faded, and _ he could still see Cas’s soul-light. _

“Are you sure?”

Cas looked a little startled by the question. “Of course I am.”

“I can still see your soul-light and grace. That’s not a human thing.”

“It’s fine, you’re still human,” Gabriel cut in before Cas could answer. “Honestly, it’s to be expected that you’d be a little different than before. Once a human has activated the Sight, mostly they never work out how to turn it off again. Just think of yourself as a weird psychic.” 

Oh. Well, that was one fear settled, at least. Dean glanced between the two of them.

“Is the buzzing from that as well? Some leftover of croatoan brain?”

“Buzzing?” Cas questioned.

“Like a sort of hum in the back of my head, sort of—alive.” It shifted in the back of his head, and suddenly Dean could feel guilt that didn’t belong to him, seeping across his mind-like ink. “Whoa! Definitely alive. Whatever it is, it feels guilty about something.”

Gabriel smirked, turning to Cas. Dean turned to him too, feeling the surge of guilt intensify, and suddenly he knew. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” Dean asked.

“I apologise,” Cas answered. “We didn’t ask your permission. Your mind was beginning to collapse without a psychic link, I—”

“So I’ve got you in my head now? Forever?”

“Yes.” Cas blinked, looking away. 

Dean watched him.

“Can I look through your eyes?” 

Cas startled, turning back to him with wide eyes. “What?”

“Can I look through your eyes? Like I did when I had drones?”

Cas opened his mouth, his jaw working without making any sound. A moment later, he seemed to steady himself enough to reply. “Possibly. We would need to practice.”

“It feels different, though. More active.”

“Yes. Our bond is much more equal than any you shared with other croatoan. Our minds are both independent, and aware. They are simply linked at a telepathic, empathetic level.”

“Awesome!”

“Glad you think so,” Cas smiled. Dean grinned, mental fingers tangling in the bondand painting it with affection. Cas jumped, eyes wide and blushing. 

Dean leaned in and kissed him. Cas’s thoughts thrummed with happiness as Dean pressed closer, one hand finding the back of Dean’s head. Dean shivered, sucking on Cas’s lip. Cas shifted, slinging his other arm across Dean’s shoulders, licking int Dean’s mouth —

“Guys, you could at least wait until I leave the room,” Gabriel said. Dean flinched back from the kiss. Cas wore an identical expression of startelement. 

“We weren’t — ”

“Brother, I — ”

“No, don’t worry, I’ll see my way out. Have fun on the honeymoon,” Gabriel called over one shoulder, wandering from the room.

Cas was still blushing.

“Uh. As much as I’d like to just make out, I am kinda wondering where we are.”

“Right. Yes. I, er, I’ll show you around.”

* * *

 

The were sitting on a bench at the edge of the sanctuary. In the distance, Dean could hear the children chattering as they went in for dinner. Actual, nice food, all courtesy of Gabe’s universe-creating powers. 

Cas sat beside him, and they watched as the evening sunlight bathed the surrounding hills.

“So, what now?”

“I’m not sure. Gabriel has offered us sanctuary here, if we want.”

“Live forever in Neverland?”

“It is the only place on Earth that hasn’t been corrupted by Lucifer. The children here, they are the last hope for your species, Dean.”

“Right. And I guess in this scenario, Lucifer just leaves us to live our peaceful lives.”

Cas was silent for a minute.

“Lucifer’s never going to stop. He’ll send his demons or the croatoans into every last hiding place, and flush out whoever has survived him so far. And once the last of the humans are gone, he’ll turn his eyes towards Heaven.”

“And Michael will keep him out, right? No way can he take all the angels.”

“If there is one thing that humans have superior to angels, it is population. The Angels of Heaven are finite. Each created with a specific purpose in mind, and a specific set of duties to complete. If one dies, there is no replacement. 

“Hell, on the other hand, has been crafting demons since the advent of Humanity. There are the innumerable horde, and absolutely, fanatically loyal to the whims of the Morningstar. They are a power enough to threaten Heaven.”

“I’m guessing Neverland doesn’t have long once that happens,” Dean concluded.

“No,” Cas sighed. “The only thing that has been holding Lucifer back from attacking Heaven is the fact that they slammed the gates shut. Lucifer needs a way to crack them open again to send in his troops. The angels won’t be expecting it, they’ll be taken unawares.”

“Can’t you warn them?”

Cas shook his head. “When they closed the gates, they locked out everyone. Angels and Heaven-bound souls included. The only reason I was able to retain my divinity was because Gabriel was still on Earth, otherwise I would be as human as you. Besides which, even if they could hear our warning, they wouldn’t believe it.”

“So we’re all screwed.”

“Pretty much.”

The last glow of sunlight was painting the hills a ruddy orange. Honestly, Dean found the colour a little unnerving. It was too bright, too red, against the muted colours shadows. But it was either staring at the sunset, or staring at Cas’s grace, and he’d already been caught doing that a couple times today. Cas seemed to take it in his stride, nearly preening under his gaze until Dean chickened out and looked away.

Cas’s thumb brushed along the back of his hand, drawing Dean back to the conversation. 

“We could run away, couldn’t we? Hide from it all until the end?”

“No one would blame you, Dean. We did all that we could to prevent the Apocalypse, but what chance did we really ever have against both Heaven and Hell?”

The bond between them hummed, exhaustion and grief passing back and forth. Dean swallowed, glancing towards their entwined hands. They could run away, live out the rest of their short days in relative happiness. Forget the world. Or maybe stay among Gabriel’s sanctuary, helping to guard the children and teach them about the world. Maybe they could even seek out other survivors, guide them together.

“He’s taken my brother, Cas. He has Sam.”

Cas gave a grim smile. “We’re going to try and stop Lucifer, aren’t we?”

“You can stay here, help Gabriel out. I just need to try—”

“I told you, Dean. I’m following you until the end. If you want to take out Lucifer, we’re doing it together.”

“And probably die trying.”

“We might save your brother. It’s worth the risk.”

“Cas…” Dean leaned forwards, resting his forehead on Cas’s shoulder. Cas’s other arm came up, encircling his shoulders and drawing him closer.

* * *

 

“You have literally watched me masturbate before, and now you’re bashful about seeing me naked?”

“Shut up! I was like, croatoan before, or whatever. I didn’t exactly have a moral compass!”

“Also, we made love at least a dozen times before you became croatoan. And once after.”

“I said shut it!”

“You know what? I think I like it. The blush really brings out your freckles.”

“Can we please just make out in silence, again? Also, do you have to call it making love?”

“Dean. I have spent four years regularly fucking whoever was game, in so many ways and positions that I’m not sure if you would be proud or jealous. What we were doing back then—what we’re doing now—this is making love.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to say it,” Dean grumbled. “Wait. What positions are we talking, here?”

Cas stepped closer with a grin, sliding his fingers up across Dean’s bare chest to grip his shoulder. Dean shivered, and Cas leaned in further until his lips were brushing along Dean’s jaw, trailing up to his ear.

“Did you know, as an angel, I was witness to the making of the Kama Sutra?”

Dean swallowed. Cas let his other hand drop, playing with the hem of Dean’s pants. 

“I found it rather fascinating. Although, watching is a very different experience than participating, wouldn’t you say?”

Dean didn’t say much else for the rest of the night.


	9. Only Death is left

Gabriel accompanied them to the edge of his sanctuary.

“Are you sure you want to go back out there? I could use a couple more hands helping out around here. You’re pretty good with the kids, Winchester.”

“Thanks for the offer, but we gotta go. Someone needs to deal with the Lucifer issue, and apparently I’m stupid enough I think it needs to be me.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Your funeral.”

“Probably, yeah.”

Gabriel glanced back and forth between the both of them, but lingered on Cas. Dean noticed the way his eyes trailed over Cas’s grace, almost like he was committing him to memory. He probably was. None of them were under the illusion that they’d see each other again.

After a moment, Gabriel seemed to shake it off, his characteristic grin like a mask.

“Do either of you nitwits actually have a plan, or are you just gonna wander up and ask Lucifer to go easy?”

“Uh.” Dean glanced to Cas, who only shrugged. “We’ll make it up later?”

“These are the heroes we entrust our future to,” Gabriel muttered, rolling his eyes. “Right. Okay. Here’s some parting advice, then. Lucifer’s powerful, but he’s still an angel. He needs his vessel in order to use his powers properly—at least he does until he makes it to Heaven. It’s a long shot, but if Sam is still aware in there, you can get him to revoke his consent to be a vessel and—” Gabriel snapped his fingers “—Luci’s out of a home.”

“Get Sammy to—you mean, he might still be alright?”

Gabriel hissed, scrunching his face. “Alive, yeah. Alright might be stretching it.”

“So how do we get him to throw Lucifer out?”

“How should I know? He’s an archangel, he’s not exactly gonna make it easy for you.”

“Come help us,” Cas spoke up. “You’re equal to him in power. You could contact Sam—”

“No way, Jose. I’ve given you guys more than enough help, I’m staying here where it’s safe.”

“What’s the problem? Not brave enough to stand up to your big bro?” Dean sneered. Gabriel turned to him with narrowed eyes.

“I saved your life and gave you a plan for taking down ol’ bright eyes. Don’t you have any respect?”

“Don’t you have any sense of responsibility?”

“Are you really going to lecture me on morality? Even before you were croatoan you spent your life murdering people.”

“Saving people from monsters!”

“Oh yes, which is why the streets are currently teeming with humans.”

“And nothing at all to do with the apocalypse  _ your brothers _ set up.”

“I’m not going to fight Lucifer!”

“Why not?”

“If I leave, they’ll die!” Gabriel snarled.

Dean blinked, at a loss as how to respond. He could feel Cas’s anxiety growing, and the angel stepped closer, tangling their fingers.

Gabriel appeared to collect himself, his eyes cold. “Do you honestly think I’m okay with this? This genocide? I saved as many as I could, I’ve been guarding them for years, and if you fail to stop Lucifer, they’re all going to die anyway. I want to come with you. Believe me, I would delight in the opportunity to cast both Luci and Michael in the Cage and throw away the key,  _ but I can’t. _ If I leave, they won’t be hidden anymore.  _ He’ll find them. _ ”

Dean couldn’t meet Gabriel’s eyes. 

_ Apologise. _

Dean flinched, glancing to Cas. Had he just —

_ Yes, we can talk across the bond. Apologise to Gabriel. _

He bit his lip, nodded, and turned back to the archangel. Cas squeezed his hand, and sent encouraging feelings. 

“I, uh. Gabriel. I’m sorry, for uh, well, pretty much everything I just said.”

“My boyfriend is a little pigheaded, and needlessly belligerent. I can assure you he is contrite.”

_ Hey! _

_ Hush, Dean. _

Gabriel looked like he was back to his usual impertubelity, lips twisted by amusement. His eyes were still sad. 

“If you come back, you better have a better apology than that, Dean. I haven’t had a chance to play the Trickster in years.”

Dean grinned somewhat nervously. “Well, I guess we’ll be on our way, then.” 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Oh Father, you two are awkward. Go! Go on your death quest, time's a wastin.”

So they left.

* * *

 

It didn’t take long to reach a large city. They were cautious approaching, of course. Cities were hotbeds for croatoan activity, and even with Cas at near full power, they weren’t gonna win any battles by pluckiness alone. 

It took maybe half a day of watching the streets from a distance to realise something was different. 

It wasn’t quiet. 

Dean could spot foxes wandering the streets, and even a few deer in the far distance. 

And scattered across the ground were fresh bodies. 

Eventually, curiosity got the better of them both. Dean crept closer, Cas at his heels, both of them ready to dash at a moment’s notice should an attack come. But nothing happened. There were no humanoid figures, moving in the shadows. There were no soul-lights, corrupted or otherwise.

Just wildlife. And the dead.

“Why are there so many corpses?” Dean murmured. “No way were there this many survivors. They don’t even look like anything attacked them!”

“Dean,” Cas called. “I think they were croatoan.”

Dean moved to crouch beside him. 

“Can you smell it? Like a faint stench of rotten eggs, but not as much as a demon would leave. And look here. Blood on their teeth. And the remnants of the soul still clinging here are all wrong.” 

“They can’t all be croatoan. They look like they all had a heart attack or something! Look there! Those ones were still feeding on some poor wretch.”

“Dean.” 

He looked up to find Cas frowning, biting the inside of his cheek. “When Gabriel and I were healing you, there was this moment where it looked like it was all going wrong. The last tendrils of corruption nearly tore you to pieces. We theorised it was something to do with the croatoan mind bonds, but what if it wasn’t just you being injured? What if it was happening to all the croatoans?”

“You think something’s screwy?”

“I think, the only thing that was keeping most of these bodies moving was Pestilence’s power. So if they’re dead now, what happened to Pestilence?”

“Lucifer’s been gunning for his ring for months now. Maybe he caught him.”

“Does he have any of the other rings?”

“Pestilence had War’s ring, and I have no clue whatever happened to Famine, but I’m guessing nothing good.”

“Which means, the only one left might be Death.”

“Shit.”

* * *

 

Collecting info for a hunt was significantly more difficult when there were no people around. There was no internet to search for omens. There were no local newspapers to look up weird deaths in. No small towns to give local knowledge. 

Before getting cured, Dean had done alright with his drones, but that wasn’t exactly an option anymore. Which meant there was only one reasonably reliable way to gain info about whatever Lucifer was planning: summon a demon, and draw the answers out.

So it was, only a day after they had left Gabriel’s sanctuary, that Dean and Cas could be found at a crossroads. 

Dean assembled a summoning box, while Cas attempted to mark out a demon trap. It was a difficult task, considering they had no paint. Even so, it wasn’t long before they were ready. 

Dean buried the box, and waited.

And waited. 

“Do demons even still make deals nowadays?” Dean asked.

“I assume so. With humanity so desperate, it would be easy to damn an extra few souls.”

“So why the no-show?”

“Perhaps they sensed it was you.”

“Demons can do that?” 

Cas raised one brow. “You place identifying information in the summoning box, what do  _ you _ think?”

“No need to get snippy,” Dean sighed. “I guess we’ll be doing this the hard way then.”

It was several weeks before they made any progress, after their unsuccessful summoning attempt. Wherever they travelled, the slowly rotting corpses of the croatoans littered the streets. They had to avoid the cities just to avoid the smell.

Survival was easier than it should have been. Cas had his full angel powers back, pretty much, courtesy of Gabriel. He didn’t need to eat or sleep, though he did need to rest and meditate occasionally. 

More surprising was the fact that Dean didn’t need food or rest either. Hunger just… didn’t happen to him anymore. Cas could only speculate that it was a result of his years feeding on souls as a croatoan. After all, despite their best efforts to fully cure him, Dean wasn’t completely human anymore. Hadn’t been in years, and simply curing the corruption in his soul wasn’t enough to restore his body to normal. 

Either way, it was convenient as hell.

The few times Dean did feel worn down or somewhat hollow, they discovered that retreating inwards to where their minds were joined seemed to help. In fact, it always left him feeling invigorated, somehow, almost like he was feeding off the intense energy of Castiel’s grace. Cas didn’t seem to mind. 

They took to meditating together rather frequently, allowing the connection between their minds to bloom and their thoughts to mix and chatter. It wasn’t really telepathy so much as a sharing of sensation and memory, emotion bleeding across the space between them until it was full. Cas’s grace danced beneath his skin, and Dean shivered.

Sex was interesting. 

They’d always been pretty compatible, even back when they first met and Dean refused to admit the angel turned him on.

Now, though…

With the soul-grace bond, Dean could literally sense how much it drove Cas crazy when Dean went down on him. He could sense Cas’s pleasure, his frustration wherever Dean drew back, his longing to make Dean come. What’s more, Cas could definitely sense all the same stuff radiating back from him. It all ended up as some sort of crazy feedback loop made of pleasure and orgasms and hour-long afterglows.

Which, while good in theory, was a little inconvenient considering they were hiking cross country in pretty dangerous territory. Neither of them were all that good at staying alert while they were getting blown, and the mind link thing made trying to focus past the pleasure all so much worse.

By mutual agreement, they decided not to do anything more than a little heavy petting, unless they were in a secure location. Dean knew Cas hated the rule too, which probably accounted for the few times they had gotten a little carried away.

It was more than a few times. Honestly, they could barely keep their hands off each other. It had been years! Years! They had both nearly died dozens of times, Dean had been a fucking croatoan! They had earned a little time to fuck each other silly, right? If only…

Two months after leaving the sanctuary, they caught the demon driving down the interstate. The sound of the engines was echoing across the entire valley, and it gave them more than enough time to set up a trap.

* * *

 

“What are you gonna do? Kill me?” the demon snorted, tossing her head back.

“You think we won’t?” Dean sneered.

“I think you’ll try.”

“Huh. Well, that’s where you’re wrong. ’cause the way I see it, all we need to do is make that vessel of yours unusable, and you’re screwed. There isn’t exactly a whole heap of new, living vessels around for you to choose from. Hell, there are only a couple dead ones left. And you don’t particularly look like you’re high on the waiting list for a body. You really want to spend your last days watching all the action as black smoke?”

The demon seemed startled, but also a little disturbed at the idea. Dean grinned.

Mostly human now, Dean wasn’t particularly proud of his skillset when it came to acquiring information. But it did come in damn useful sometimes.

* * *

 

“So, we confirmed, this is worst case scenario. Lucifer is searching for Death so he can break into Heaven, with Abaddon as his right hand. What do we do now?”

“Make out like horny teens?”

“Cas!”

Cas sighed, lying back to stretch in a way that could only be described as seductive. Dean traced his eyes across Cas’s body, flushing slightly when he Cas caught him watching and winked.

“Don’t act like you weren’t thinking about it, lover.” Cas was grinning now, his mind reflecting delight as Dean’s blush grew deeper. “Do you ever stop thinking about sex?”

“Do you?” Dean retorted.

“Not now I have you,” Cas chuckled, looking up to the sky. “As to your question about how to stop Lucifer, I have no idea. We could attempt to summon Death, but we have none of the rare ingredients. We could try to attack Lucifer, but neither of us is powerful enough for that. We already decided against running and hiding.”

“Fuck.”

“That’s a much better idea than making out.”

“Seriously?” Dean groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “How are you the same guy who was terrified of a ‘Den of Iniquity’?”

“You must have rubbed off on me. Want to do it again?”

“Come on, that wasn’t even a good one.”

“You’re smiling.”

“It’s a grimace of judgement.”

Why was it that the burden of restraint was being placed on Dean? He’d never been one for abstinence, and now here Cas was, eager and perfect and horny and oh so creative... 

The point was, Cas could at least pretend to try and uphold their self-imposed ban on sex in wild and unusual places. Maybe then they wouldn’t have been readjusting their clothing when a figure appeared on the road before them.

“Are you both done? I have been waiting.”

Dean, with his shirt still mostly unbuttoned and several hickeys on full display, felt himself flush. Cas seemed unfazed, and made no move to cover himself. 

The man was incredibly odd. He was dressed almost entirely in black, with shiny leather shoes and a cane in one hand. Something similar to a cape was draped over his shoulders. The skin of his face was nearly transparent and very pale, with deep wrinkles drawing out the shape of his skull. The most unusual aspect of him was the fact that he wasn’t dirty. There wasn’t a single speck of dust or dirt muddying anything he wore. 

Sharp, dark eyes darted between them before settling on Dean.

“I do wish you could have come to me before this whole mess began properly. I had quite a fondness for a lot of your human cuisine, but it is near impossible to find any these days.”

“You’re not human,” Dean ventured. It was obvious by the difference in his soul-light.

“Very good.” The man turned to regard Cas. “Do you have him trained to clap on command? Or is making inane statements the extent of his talents?”

“Hey—”

“Dean.”

Dean paused, turning to Cas. He’d never heard that tone of voice before, at once awe and terror and protective instinct. Turning back to the odd man, Dean focused, examining the man through his soul-sight.

He swallowed. “You’re Death.”

“Yes. So I assume we are all up to date?”

Dean tried to speak, but he couldn’t make a sound. Cas glanced to him in exasperation.

“I believe so,” Cas began. “Lucifer wants to break into Heaven, and he appears to be collecting the rings of the Horsemen to do it. As far as we know, yours is the only one he definitely doesn’t have.”

“So you  _ are  _ up to date. Good. What I am here to inquire is what you are planning on doing about it all.”

“What?” Dean spluttered. “What we’re planning? You’re Death! Can’t you—” Dean fell silent as Death turned to stare at him again. “Sorry, sir.”

“I am unable to act. Lucifer has me bound to his will.”

Dean swallowed. Licked his lips. Glanced to Cas, back to Death. “I, uh, we don’t know anything about how to unbind you—”

Death gave an almighty sigh, tilting his head up to the sky as if asking for patience. “Of course you don’t. If I couldn’t escape, there is hardly anything a microbe like you could do to interfere. What is your plan regarding Lucifer?”

“Ah. Um. Yeah, basically we were planning on getting Sam to eject him. And then, uh—”

“And then you would be murdered by an archangel with no vessel before he returns to Sam Winchester to continue his assault on Heaven. This doesn’t appear to be a plan so much as a creative method of assisted suicide.”

Dean flushed. Cas glanced to him, shuffling closer until their shoulders touched. Dean reached down to tangle their hands.

It was the best plan they’d been able to come up with, but Death was right. It was rather crap.

“If you are able to force Lucifer from his vessel, I will assist you after,” Death stated.

It took Dean a moment to actually process. “You’re kidding. Really?”

Death was nearly expressionless, but Dean noticed something about his eyes. There was a deep rage there, something that had never meant to be trapped and resented being controlled. Something amused at Dean’s regard.

“I know all the loopholes in my bindings. I’ll work something out. Just stop that impertinent child before he destroys what’s left of the Earth and Heaven. I’ve had quite enough of his tantrums.”

The figure of Death disappeared between one blink and the next. In the same moment, Dean sensed a small weight in one pocket. Reaching in, he withdrew a large signet ring, scrawled all over with strange energy.

“This is… We have Death’s decoder ring.”

“It would appear so,” Cas murmured, leaning in to get a closer look.

“Right. Right. Okay. So where does this leave us?”

“Back at square one, I believe. We need to work out a way to get Sam to reject Lucifer.”

“How the fuck do we get to talk to Sam?”

“You know, it occurs to me that demons don’t require permission to enter a vessel. If we can find one powerful enough, one who rebelled from Lucifer, then perhaps we could use them to get to Sam.”

“A demon. One who rebelled from Lucifer. Yeah, right!” Dean snorted. “You’d have better luck trying to break into Heaven!”

“Lucifer hates humans, and hates demons just as much. They are, after all, simply corrupted human souls. From the moment his purpose has been completed, Lucifer will destroy all his demons. It is a certainty. There must be one or two with enough self-preservation to realise that.”

“Cas, they’re like a cult! All of them worship him, and they’d be happy to die over it. It’s impossible.”

There was a sigh from behind them.

“Oh, boys. Death himself gives you his ring, and all you can think about are demons?”

Dean flinched, spinning in the direction of the sound. It was another non-human, this one wearing the vessel of a black woman. Her energy seemed similar to Death, but somehow tamer, less infinite.

Cas blinked, before his face split in a grin.

“You’re a reaper.”

“Bingo. The name’s Billie. I hear you need to get in contact with a lost soul. That just happens to be my speciality.”


	10. The End

Billie was creepy. There was something sly in her smile that said she would watch Dean drown without lifting a finger to help. Hell, she’d probably grab popcorn and settle in.

Cas seemed to get along well with her though, which had the knock-on effect of increasing Dean’s regard for her. This whole mind-bond thing was weird. It was unusual to feel a mind so active and fluid against his own, invigorating and enchanting in a way that he had never felt before.

Dean had had roughly 600 minds linked to his own at one point, and he’d never felt any of them so alive.

His stomach was twisting.

“Dean?” Cas was already turned to him, no doubt having picked up on his thoughts. Billie watched on, apathetic. Dean turned from them in time to throw up, hands hitting the ground and barely adequate at keeping him upright.

Cas’s thoughts tried to press closer, sending calming feelings, but Dean recoiled violently, couldn’t let Cas come close, couldn’t let Cas touch him, every mind he touched died—

Oh God, so many people. He’d killed so many people, enslaved them, tortured them—

Dean heaved again.

There were hands on his back—Cas—holding, supporting him while Dean blew chunks, and—

“Shhh, Dean, calm yourself. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay. How could it possibly be okay? It had taken him nearly two months to even remember that he’d murdered people, crushing their minds beneath his own and _feeding off their souls_ —

“Dean, you were not yourself.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? He’d been infected, yeah, but he’d survived. Bits of Dean had clung on inside him, enough for Cas to get through to him, enough to try to heal him, and he’d still done it, still killed, taken pleasure in their screams for years and years—

He could barely breathe, his vision was swimming. He could see their faces, so many faces—

Cas hauled him close and tight, pressed against his chest—no, please, he was going to throw up again—

“ _Dean_.” And suddenly Cas was there too, his presence in Dean’s head, reaching in and muting it all somehow, guiding his lungs to expand like bellows, pressing away the nausea. Dean collapsed against him, exhausted, but calm once more. Gradually Cas began to retreat from his head, and the panic didn’t resurge, so he slid further and further until their psyches were barely brushing together.

Cas was whispering to him, gently rocking them in some soothing motion. Murmuring calming things, little nonsense statements, like Dean used to whenever Sam had a nightmare. Dean shivered, letting them wash over him.

It was several minutes later before he could refocus on the world around them, beyond Cas’s arms. Billie had apparently grown bored of his little breakdown, because Dean couldn’t spot her anywhere nearby. The ring pulsed gently where it hung about his neck, and Dean knew she hadn’t travelled far.

Eventually, Dean shifted to escape Cas’s embrace, reaching for the water bottle when the taste of sick in his mouth became too sharp. Cas let him go, having long since fallen silent and still.

It was the bloody end of the world, and Cas was still trying to sort Dean’s issues. What had he ever done to deserve him?

“You still don’t think you deserved to be saved, do you? I can feel it flickering behind your thoughts.”

There was a moment of irritation that Cas could read him so easily, but that quickly faded. They didn’t exactly have secrets anymore, living in each other’s heads and all.

“If I ever did, buddy, I certainly don’t deserve it now.”

Cas licked his lips, brow furrowed like he wanted to argue, before he dropped his gaze to the fire.

“Dean. You do. You will always deserve saving.”

Dean scoffed.

“Your actions—whether in Hell or as a croatoan—they were not you.”

“I took up the blade, Cas. I chose it, and I liked it. Part of me still likes it. All the virus did was bring that part of me forward.”

“No. A choice made under coercion is no choice at all. As soon as you were able, you lay it aside. You chose not to continue, and when the angels tried to do the same, to trap you again and force you to do their bidding, you still fought. Even knowing you were likely to fail. Even knowing the sort of horrors they could inflict upon you to manipulate you into saying yes. You fought to save them.”

Dean blinked rapidly, turning from Cas to stare into the fire. In the back of his head, he could feel Cas’s vehemence, the utter conviction with which he believed in Dean’s goodness.

He swallowed. Shook his head. “That doesn’t—that doesn’t justify any of it. I—Gabriel was right. He should have killed me the moment we met—”

“Oh Pale Rider, save me from suicidal hero-types,” Billie’s voice rang out. “You want to die? Be my guest, but let’s wait until after we try to fight an archangel. My boss is rather relying on you, and I would prefer not to be a foot soldier in Lucifer’s war with Heaven.”

She settled across from him, eyes harsh and cold. Dean fidgeted before nodding. They had to focus on tomorrow. On saving Sam. All the rest could come later.

“So the big battle is tomorrow. What is our strategy?” Billie inquired.

* * *

 

The plan, as it turned out, was rather simple. Dean and Cas would run distractions, take out as many of Lucifer’s entourage as they could, so that Billie could get a chance to sneak into Sam’s vessel and try to communicate with his soul.

Simple, yes, but apparently even that could go wrong.

Abaddon growled, flexing her ethereal body. Behind her, lounged on a throne, Lucifer wore Sam like a particularly elegant suit.

“Oh, I’ve been looking forwards to seeing you two, again.”

He didn’t know how the Hell Cas had managed it, but somehow he was even faster than last time. He darted around Abaddon, like a cat harassing a Doberman, all hisses and scratches and biting at ankles. She shrieked, following him in a rage. Dean’s thoughts flicked over him constantly, monitoring his condition with a practised ease, as Dean fought off the lesser demons.

Billie was proving to be a rather terrifying ally, able to draw the black smoke of the demons from their hosts with a flick of one hand. It made sense, Dean supposed. They were made of the same stuff as souls, after all, even all bent and broken as they were. He caught her sardonic smile as the twisted in battle, and shivered.

They were getting closer.

Nearly close enough.

“While this has been very entertaining, Dean, I fail to see what you think you can accomplish here. She’s just an ordinary reaper. You’re just an ordinary human. Your angel is about to be ripped apart by my dear Abaddon. You can’t kill me.”

Dean didn’t bother to answer, too caught up in the rhythm of battle.

The rings on Lucifer’s hand caught Dean’s attention, glinting in the light. Spinning to avoid an attack, he raised Death’s ring. The power surged, swirling and shifting through his arm, sending every demon nearby flying from their vessels. Lucifer straightened, frowning with surprise.

Dean grinned.

With a gesture, he surrounded the archangel with death energy. Lucifer reacted immediately, spreading his wings to tear through the oppressive threads.

Billie seized the opportunity, leaping towards him. As she flew through the air, she shifted, transforming until nothing was left of her physical form and only grey mist remained. She reached Sam and…disappeared.

Dean blinked. She still lived, he could sense that much. Lucifer could sense her presence too, because he scowled, before his eyes slid shut as he turned inwards.

Dean sent another wave of energy his way, trying to keep his awareness outwards. Billie was far too vulnerable in there, even with her experience at drawing out souls. Dean could still feel her, her determination and her fear leaking back over and through the ring. She knew Lucifer could take her out at any moment.

Death energy wasn’t enough.

With a flick of his thoughts, Dean found Cas, still mid-battle with Abaddon. Cas immediately sprung towards him, understanding the situation in the same second that Dean called for his assistance. Somewhere behind them, Abaddon was shrieking with rage, but Cas was already beside him, grace ready to launch another attack at Lucifer.

Together, they lunged towards the archangel, blades of grace and death energy ready.

Lucifer growled, eyes snapping open as he leapt back to avoid them. Dean felt Billie drifting deeper, her search growing more frantic.

“Dean!” Cas cautioned, looking over one shoulder, and Dean could see through his eyes as Abaddon moved closer. Dean ignored her for a second, already guiding Cas’s body into a blind attack against Lucifer, who remained on the defensive.

At the last second, Dean threw them both out of the way, and Abaddon was barely able to prevent herself colliding with her master. Lucifer snarled, throwing her solidly against a wall in his frustration, and Dean could feel it, could sense the moment Billie found Sam—

“No!” Lucifer roared, before going completely still, seeking Billie again. Dean was panting, but he gathered the energy again, could feel Cas doing the same beside him, and they were attacking Lucifer again.

He didn’t dodge this time. Reaching out, Lucifer snatched at Cas’s throat, holding him suspended in one hand. He shook off Dean’s attack, glaring at the dangling angel.

“I was going to offer you the chance to join me, Castiel. But you obviously don’t deserve the opportunity.”

Cas smirked. And Dean knew that he should be terrified for Cas, for Billie, for all of them, but Cas was smirking—

Dean felt the victory the second before it happened.

Sam’s head jerked backwards, white light and smoke pouring up and out, towards the sky. Cas dropped from his grip, and Dean was right beside him, fingers brushing over the bruises on his neck. Sam collapsed a moment later.

They had done it. They had freed Sam, gotten him to eject the archangel Lucifer.

Said archangel was now hovering above them, all the power and light of a star guided by malicious intent.

“Death, any time now would be good,” Dean muttered.

There was a high pitched whistling, growing sharper and sharper. Around them, all the demons still nearby were screaming, burning away before the light.

Any time, now.

“You really are rather impertinent,” a familiar voice rang out. Lucifer—all his lustrous, twisting light—vanished. Dean frowned, spinning to survey the battlefield. Surely this was a trick. Things never went this easy for them—

Between one heartbeat and the next, Death appeared standing before him. The Horseman turned slowly, surveying the area as if in approval. When he next looked at Dean, he almost appeared to be smiling.

Dean had the absurd thought to ask if it was too cheesy to say Death’s smile reminded him of a skull. Nevertheless, he felt Cas’s amusement at the concept echo back.

“My ring, please.”

Dean removed the ring, and handed it over.

Billie materialised beside her master, looking exhausted but satisfied. “Ah. So you both lived.”

Dean made to retort, but glancing to the being at her side, he thought better of it. Death stared back, and Dean had the feeling he knew exactly what Dean had just not said.

“Dean?” Billie drew his attention again. “Usually I wouldn’t interfere. Not my place. You are free to live your life as wrapped up in self-doubt and misplaced guilt as you choose. But I am rather fond of your mate Castiel, so listen close. Your soul was always marked for Heaven. Still is. And not just because the angels wanted to use you. Only reason you ever went south was because of that deal you made. The rest of it? The good outweighed the bad by so much it isn’t even funny.”

Dean swallowed. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Just in case you were still considering dying. We both agree that what’s dead should stay dead.” She glanced towards Death, who was apparently amused by the whole exchange. “If my boss brings you back, I won’t argue, but I’d be happy to ferry you to the other side. Think about it.”

“Billie takes pride in her work. It makes her a rather exceptional servant,” Death murmured, and Billie nearly seemed to glow under his praise.

They both disappeared.

Dean blinked, glancing to Cas.

“Did she just try to reassure me and tell me to kill myself at the same time?”

“I—I think so,” Cas glanced to him, and Dean could feel his uneasiness. “Please don’t try to kill yourself.”

“No, I, uh, I’m not planning on it anytime soon.”

Cas’s thoughts seemed to seethe around the phrase ‘anytime soon’, longing for a stronger reassurance, but he settled after a second.

Together they turned to where Sam was sprawled, unconscious.

“It’s a good thing you know how to heal.”

* * *

Stopping Lucifer from invading Heaven didn’t do much to make anything better, as far as humanity was concerned. The damage was long since done as far as that went. 

It didn’t feel entirely real, any of it. Humans as an endangered species. Just a few years ago, there had been billions of them all across the world. Enough that monsters could graze on them all like cattle, and as a group, humanity would barely notice the difference. Dean had spent nearly his whole life hunting, trying to save people from the things in the dark. Were any of them alive anymore? Had any of them survived the croatoan virus?

Dean had felt it, back when he was connected to Pestilence. The majority of the human population had been bitten and converted into croatoans. All of them now dead. There were probably only a few thousand survivors worldwide, now.

Seven billion to a few scattered thousand. 

Dean swallowed.

Cas drew his attention with a thought and a worried glance. Dean tried to grin, but it felt more like a grimace. Cas frowned, looking a little confused.

in retrospect, trying to lie about your feelings with body language when your lover had direct access to your head didn’t make much sense. Dean shrugged, glancing around their campsite. It wasn’t much of a campsite, really. They had a fire, and a couple blankets that had been gathered as a makeshift bed for Sammy.

Sam’s eyes were open.

Dean sprang to his side, joined by Cas at nearly the same moment. Sam didn’t react except to blink.

“Sammy?” Dean reached for him, one hand hovering above Sam’s shoulder. Should he touch? Touch could be grounding, right? This was the first time Sam was awake and control in his body for years. He’d need to be grounded or something.

Cas didn’t hesitate, gently shifting Dean aside so he could access Sam more easily. He placed two fingers against Sam’s pulse point, and Dean noticed a strand of grace light up within Cas’s hand. It began to thrum, presumably in time with Sam’s heartbeat.

“Sam. Are you awake?” Cas asked.

Sam blinked. Slowly, his head shifted, turning to face the fire. Cas kept his fingers in place, and waved his other hand across Sam’s line of sight. Sam didn’t react. 

Cas didn’t appear discouraged. Over the next few minutes, he ran a whole series of tests examining Sam: clicking his fingers above Sam’s ear; pinching the skin on the back of Sam’s hands; flexing Sam’s joints as if he was a fucking physiotherapist or something.

Dean just sat back and felt useless. 

After a while, Cas settled back, breaking the tendril of grace he’d had in contact with Sam. Despite Sam’s lack of response and interaction, Cas didn’t seem worried. 

“I’m not worried,” Cas stated, matter of fact, as if he wasn’t taking the words from Dean’s head. “Oh. You weren’t speaking out loud, were you?”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re in each other’s heads. It’s bound to happen sometimes.”

Cas smiled, this sweet, helpless sort of expression that painted the insides of Dean’s thoughts with love. 

Ugh. When did he get so cheesy?

Cas’s smile had taken on a more teasing look, but he didn’t bring it up. “Sam seems to be recovering well enough, from what I’ve seen of possession victims. Physically, he’s at peak health. And although he hasn’t really been responding visibly to any physical stimuli, his mind does seem to have regained some degree of awareness; enough, at least, to be irritated when I wave a hand between his eyes and the fire. The light of it seems to be calming for him.”

Sam didn’t stay awake for long. It was understandable. The guy had to be exhausted after playing  _ host _ for so long.

Dean wasn't quite sure what to think about Sam. Until recently, he'd literally forgotten all about Sam's existence. Even after remembering, he hadn't exactly been filled with warm and fluffy feelings for the guy. Granted, he’d been on croatoan brains at the time, but even now that Dean was pretty much human again he just didn’t care the way he used to.

Sure, he hadn't exactly been overrun with love for Sam from the moment he'd awoken, but these things took time, right? He’d been certain that the moment he actually saw Sam again, all those old feelings would rush back, and they could be brothers again.

Sadly, it seemed Pestilence had done more damage to his head than even Cas could heal. 

Watching Sam rest, Dean could feel sympathy for the guy. He felt horrified on his behalf, and invested in making sure Sam had the chance to heal. But it didn't feel personal. This wasn’t the protective, all-consuming love he’d felt before. 

The way he cared now felt much colder, nearly clinical. A detached empathy like the kind he’d shared for the victims of monster attacks. Sam had been tortured by the Devil himself, and Dean would do everything he could to ensure Sam could recover, but it wasn’t like Dean’s emotional wellbeing was in the balance. It wasn’t gonna break him if Sam never recovered.

It was an unsettling feeling, especially considering he could remember what he used to feel before.

It took them about a week to walk back to Gabriel’s sanctuary. By mutual agreement, they took it slow, gently encouraging Sam to walk alongside them. He was a little too large to carry the entire way, even for Cas.

Sam had yet to say a word. He held himself motionless, trying to make his large frame seem smaller, as if any sudden movement might draw the wrong attention. His eyes held no recognition, but he didn't hesitate to do whatever Cas or Dean suggested, and seemed frightened if he couldn't immediately work out how to obey.

It was damn near heartbreaking to watch.

Apart from the obvious mental stuff, and Sam’s weird preoccupation with staring at bright lights--seriously, it had taken a direct command to get him to stop staring at the sun--Sam seemed completely healthy. He ate whatever Cas placed in front of him, and he slept peacefully each evening once they set up camp.

It left Dean feeling restless. A physical injury or a monster, that was the sort of problem he knew how to fix. Mental stuff? He hadn’t the first clue how to help. Honestly, he probably needed a little mental healing himself. Even before he got turned, he hadn’t exactly been known for his healthy coping mechanisms. 

Having Cas in his head helped with that, at least. His presence was a constant reassurance that he wasn’t alone, that someone cared. It didn’t matter if he was broken, because Cas had already knew seen him at his worst and loved him anyway. Dean knew he did the same for Cas.

He only wished there was some way to do the same for Sam.

* * *

 

Gabriel appeared before them the moment they got close to his sanctuary. Cas had maybe a second of warning before Gabriel threw himself forwards, drawing Cas into a tight hug. Cas returned his embrace, ignoring the flicker of surprise he could sense from Dean. Gabriel sighed, relaxing against him.

“You actually pulled it off,” Gabriel mumbled against his shoulder.

“Believe me, we were surprised too,” Cas replied. Gabriel snorted, drawing back to look over Cas and check he was unharmed. Cas allowed the fussing. He knew Gabriel was simply relieved to see them alive again. 

Eventually, Gabriel seemed satisfied, and turned to survey the Winchesters. Dean shifted closer to Sam, as if to protect him from Gabriel’s attentions. Sam didn’t react at all, still staring into space.

“Well, he's doing better than Raphael’s vessel, at least,” Gabriel mused. “Sam. You awake in there?”

Sam’s eyes flickered, landing on Gabriel. He seemed to grow even more still, like he was waiting for an order. Gabriel grimaced, but he slowly stepped closer, careful to keep both his hands in Sam’s sight. Cas took the chance to move closer to Dean, who smiled in appreciation.

“Hey there, Sam. Remember me?” Gabriel spoke softly. Sam blinked, seemingly fixated on Gabriel. “I know we didn’t part on the best of terms, but I have a friend here who wants to meet you.”

Cas wasn’t too surprised when another  zână appeared besides them, introduced as Sully. Apparently he’d been Sam’s childhood imaginary friend. Sam blinked again, and startled everyone nearby by giving the  zână a hug. Cas shared a smile with Dean.

Together they all made their way back to the town.

Things were still bad. So many people had died. Society had basically collapsed.

But they had survived. Dean had survived, and so had Cas. Sam was…well, better than he had been recently. And Gabriel had saved so many others, children who could actually grow up now without fear. Lucifer was back in the Cage. They had saved Heaven.

Things were still bad, but there was a hope. And for now, a hope was enough.


End file.
